


Red Right Hand

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, M/M, Partner Betrayal, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:32:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 57,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Jim Ellison is with the Chopec fulfilling his mission. When an alliance is formed with a neighbouring tribe, he finds himself unprepared for the consequences of a meeting with the other tribe's guide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Right Hand

## Red Right Hand

#### by Rae

  
  
I would like to dedicate this story to Bettie who was kind enough and generous enough to bid for this story at the 2006 Moonridge auction.   
As always my undying gratitude to Starwatcher for her wonderful beta.  
  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

**RED RIGHT HAND**

**PROLOGUE**

It had taken a little over twelve months, but Captain James Ellison and his army of Chopec warriors had made the Chopec Pass a no-go zone for drug dealers and The Shining Path. Not that most of the time they weren't one and the same, despite the guerillas' proclamations of leftist principles. At first Ellison hadn't believed they could do it, but then he hadn't believed he could, would or should have survived in the first place. But they had and he had. 

The Huey had gone down hard in a heavily forested area, after having been hit by a missile. Two of his men had died on impact; the others had lingered, the last dying in his arms three days after the crash. He had been alone then, wracked with guilt and ravaged by fever. He didn't know how long he had waited for the end. He had been surprised when death came bearing a face painted in red, but he had surrendered anyway, letting go. Waking up had surprised him even more and the thought had come to him that you don't cheat death, so he had lain there not talking, not seeing, not thinking, waiting for the final moments of his life to come along. In spite of his indifference, the Chopec people had healed his body. His mind had been another matter altogether. 

He knew now that the tribal shaman, Incacha, had finally lost patience with his selfimposed mental exile and had taken extreme measures to break through to him. Six children all under five years of age had invaded his hut, complete with noisy toys and a pet monkey. He had been oblivious to it all until one snot-nosed, tear-stained, chubby, eighteen-month-old had put a grubby hand on his face. The hand had pulled his face towards its owner. Not receiving the reaction it expected, the youngster patted the unresponsive cheek, calling out in a petulant sob. Children, and especially young children, hate to be ignored. This child was no exception. An ear-splitting scream rent the air, forcing silence out of the other children and the monkey. Jim Ellison clapped his hands over his ears and, turning on his side, curled into a ball. The child continued to shriek but, having now found leverage, used Jim's shoulder to pull itself up. Teetering precariously on the uneven surface that made up Captain Ellison's bedding, the child grabbed onto the nearest available handhold; Jim's left ear. Content for the moment, the child started to move, making its way round the prone man's head. The child's tears had been caused by a full and dirty diaper. As the offending article came into contact with the soldier's face he gagged at the smell and tried to move away from the revolting item. The movement caused the child to lose its grip and, falling to the ground, he resumed his wailing. The monkey had had enough and started shrieking, pulling at its leash. The young owner of the monkey decided she too was going to cry as the monkey escaped her grasp. It was to this cacophony of sound and smells that Captain James Joseph Ellison rejoined the land of the living, as he jumped to his feet, hands still over his ears, gasping for breath. Outside the hut the black-haired man with a red painted face smiled to himself and waited for the children to leave the stranger's hut so he could begin training this new sentinel. 

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE - TWO PATHS CROSS**

(Twelve months after the crash) 

The scouting party had found the site of the raid easily enough. The stench of death didn't need a sentinel to identify it, and scavengers of the winged variety and the fourfooted kind had found the bloodied camp long before they had. There were three female bodies, naked and spread eagled in the centre of the camp. The nine other bodies were all male. Death had not come easy to any of them, but the men's deaths had been quicker; the women had provided entertainment before their throats were slit. Only two of the men had been natives; the other seven men were foreigners, probably Americans from the clothes the men wore and the few items found scattered around. All had been young, none older than thirty; one of the women had her hair in braids and wore braces on her teeth. She looked about sixteen. Jim Ellison said a quiet prayer for the tortured souls, while part of him railed that kids of that young were apparently running around a jungle that was a war zone. Whoever had allowed them to come to this part of the world was criminally responsible, as far as Jim was concerned. He sighed for lives unlived, futures unfulfilled. 

Pushing those thoughts to one side, he slowly and carefully walked around the camp site. It had been a temporary stop, probably a night's stay en route elsewhere. From the tracks they were heading northwest out of the danger zone. Not fast enough though, Jim thought to himself. The raiders had come from the south. Jim was pretty sure they had not been trailing the Americans; it seemed to be an unfortunate crossing of paths. Very unfortunate. Cigarette ends, human shit, broken foliage and deeper indentations in the ground told Jim where the raiders had waited, watching the young people. He contemplated that as these people had been stupid enough to be out here in the first place, then they hadn't probably taken any precautions to give themselves advance warning of attack. Jim mentally tutted at their lack of forethought and stopped to read tracks in the ground. He followed the prints, stopping when a quiet voice asked him what he had found. Jim turned to Incacha. 

"Two made it out alive. They ran, fast." Jim walked on, treading the same path as those who had fled, fearing for their lives. "Not fast enough. One fell here. There is blood on the tree. He hit his head as he went forward." Jim pointed to a brown smudge on the tree trunk and two round indentations in line with the bloodstain, about four feet back. "The other one kept going." Jim paused, tracking the prints as they disappeared down the path. "The steps are unsteady; this one may have been hurt." 

"The one that fell, is he one of the dead?" Incacha asked. 

Jim shook his head. "All the others are taller. The Indians are about the right height, but the knee indentations I found back there were clothed, not bare skin." 

"So where is the body?" 

Jim shrugged. "Not dragged off by animals for sure. I'd say he walked away under his own power. In fact," Jim knelt down, switched his rifle to his back and ran his fingers over the earth, "he went after the unsteady one." Jim stood. 

"Follow the tracks; see what more you can find out," Incacha ordered. 

Jim took off, his long loping stride swallowing the distance. With his heightened senses it was easy to complete his task. The raiders had caught up with the unsteady one after a few hundred yards. He had been slow and had stumbled badly. Jim considered that, given the young age of the main group, this one could have been the leader. He trailed the raiders and their captive south. There were going back the way they had come. The unsteady one wasn't slaughtered like the others; they had taken him with them. They must want him for a reason, Jim decided. 

He continued to follow. A little further on a single set of prints veered off. Whoever this person was, he had fallen, a hand going down to break his fall. There had been blood on the hand. Jim sniffed closely. It was the same blood as on the tree. The short man had been brave enough to follow his leader, but not strong enough to keep up. He had crawled off the path and rested in the undergrowth before getting up and staggering on. In his injured state he had missed the fact that the raiders had struck out in a different direction. 

Something about the impression this man left on his senses energized Jim; it was intoxicating. There had been a long curly brown hair stuck in the blood on the tree trunk. He had pulled the hair from the bark and felt the softness. He smelled it. From the single strand he knew he would recognize the scent again, anywhere. The compulsion to follow the scent was strong, but the soldier in him knew he had to follow the raiding party. The unsteady one, the older one was in more immediate danger, and Jim knew he needed to find out why the raiders had taken him alive rather than kill him. As night drew close he continued his search, the failing light no impediment to his mission. 

**CHAPTER TWO - A BEGINNING**

(Three months later) 

Jim Ellison had advised the tribal elders against the pact. He didn't trust the Yacaya tribe; their contact with the guerillas was far too recent for Jim's liking and a sudden and very belated proclamation of solidarity with the Chopec set off warning bells in Jim's head. The two tribes shared a common border and both had suffered badly at the hands of the Shining Path, as the rebels had tried to force their way through the Chopec Pass. Jim knew that a tactical alliance between the two tribes was a sound military idea, but he believed the Yacaya had seen the success of the Chopec against the Shining Path and had decided that backing the eventual winners of the current troubles was a much better bet than siding with the eventual losers. There was nothing wrong with that, except that if the Chopec faltered in the fight against the enemy, they were as likely to see the Yacaya fighting against them as with them. He had always been a cynical bastard. 

Incacha had agreed with him, but the elders had been persuaded by the Yacaya shaman, who had arrived in the Chopec village full of smiles and promises. 

In the fifteen months since the Chopec had rescued Captain Jim Ellison, their own shaman, Incacha, had spent many days with the fledgling sentinel. The onset of his heightened senses had come as a shock to Jim, but Incacha had told Jim that he knew he was coming and knew he was a sentinel. In between lessons to expand his basic knowledge of the Chopec language, Incacha had shown Jim how to control and use his senses. Jim had learned the history of both sentinels and their life companions, their guides. When Jim had asked if Incacha was his guide, the man with the red-painted face had laughed. His face had then become serious and finally sad. 

"I am not your guide, Enqueri. He has yet to come, he has yet to die." 

Jim had tried untold times to get an explanation out of Incacha as to what he meant. The man would smile inscrutably and repeat the same words over and over again. In the end Jim gave up asking, but the words stayed in his head and they scared him. 

Enqueri was the name Jim had been given by the tribal chief. His naming ceremony had come only a few days after he had wakened from his self-imposed mental exile. He had still been weak and angry, but part of him realized that if he wanted to survive then he was going to have to work with these people. He actually came to like the word 'Enqueri' and had gone many months now with it being his only name. After he had healed, Jim had divided his time between language lessons from the women, sentinel training from Incacha and being on patrol with the tribe's own sentinel, Muyuna. Jim and he were of a similar age and, despite their disparate upbringings, Jim found, over long conversations as they traveled through the Chopec lands, that they had a very similar outlook on life. Muyuna helped Jim refine his control over his senses in the field, as it were, and was mildly amused by Jim's early assertion that his army training had given him the necessary covert skills to move as silently through the jungle as the Chopec warriors. Jim was happy to admit only a few days into his first foray into the jungle that his 'covert' skills left him floundering around like an elephant in a corn field. He spent many days learning the Chopec ways until the warriors he traveled with accepted his hunting skills had become as good as theirs. In return Jim taught the Chopec tactics and unarmed combat. Once he had more than a rudimentary grasp of the language and could impart information without Incacha translating, he found the men intelligent, eager to learn and singularly bloodthirsty when it came to protecting the tribe. 

Their successes against the invaders had been spectacular. They had held the Chopec Pass, denying the rebels the route in they had to have. Now the Chopec were paying the price. Of late, the rebels had redoubled their efforts to breach the Pass. Low flying planes delivered indiscriminate napalm strikes that burnt large swathes of destruction in the jungle. The rebels followed hard on the heels of the 'rain of death', as the warriors called it, bringing to bear an arsenal of weapons that would not have been out of place on any modern battlefield. Jim knew they were fighting a losing battle. The rebels had seemingly endless resources to throw into their very determined destruction of the Chopec and the Chopec were, for all their single-minded bravery, a small band of men with bows and arrows; a modern day David who was running out of stones for his slingshot. 

The alliance with the Yacaya made good sound military sense and Jim knew that part of him accepted and welcomed the support of warriors who were renowned for the defense of their own tribal lands. Another part of him railed against the alliance and he could not explain why. He discussed his concerns with Muyuna and with Incacha. The Chopec sentinel shared none of his fears and dismissed Jim's arguments. Muyuna was in good company. The Chopec Chief, Apurimac, had already given his blessing to the alliance. The approval of the tribal elders at the meeting of the two tribes was almost a foregone conclusion. Incacha had remained silent when Jim had spoken to Muyuna of his concerns and as he and his trainee sentinel had walked together afterwards, Jim had repeated his arguments and asked for understanding. Incacha had stopped on the path they were following. The foliage was particularly dense at that spot. 

"Look up, Enqueri, what do you see?" 

Jim did as instructed. "I see the canopy, I see the sky," he replied. 

"Do you see the sun?" Incacha asked. 

"No." 

"Is the sun in the sky?" 

"Yes." 

"Sometimes, young one, there are things that we know, but cannot see. Have you spoken to Apurimac of your concerns?" 

"You know I have, you were there." 

"Did he consider your words?" 

"Yes." 

"Will you speak before the tribal elders when the two tribes meet?" 

"If I am allowed." Jim knew his actual standing in the hierarchy of the tribe was at times a movable feast. 

"You will be allowed, Enqueri." Incacha smiled. "And if the elders disregard your words, will you still fight with the Chopec and the Yacaya?" 

"Yes," said Jim, but there was a hesitation in his voice. 

"But?" Incacha prompted. 

"I will be on my guard." 

"Against what?" 

"Whatever it is that has me on edge." Jim was starting to get frustrated. 

"Something that you know, but cannot see?" Incacha had the inscrutable look on his face again, that Jim had seen so often. Jim gritted his teeth and walked on, damping down his anger. For once Incacha took pity on his student. "Enqueri, you are right to be concerned." He paused, until Jim turned back to him. "But do not fear for the Chopec. We will defend our lands." 

"Am I in danger?" Jim asked. He had stopped being surprised by what the shaman knew of the future and hearing Incacha's emphasis on the word 'we', jumped to the conclusion that he should be worried about himself. 

"No." 

"Then I don't understand." 

Incacha walked towards Jim, pausing as a gap in the canopy allowed sunlight to flood one spot. He looked up at the sky and the sun overhead. 

"You will," was all he said. 

**CHAPTER THREE - AN ARRIVAL**

(Two days later) 

The Chopec warriors had enjoyed a short reprieve from their duties of fighting the rebels. Many still guarded the boundaries to the Chopec lands, but others, Jim included, had been out hunting game. The women were pleased with what they had brought back and had spent two days skinning, gutting and cleaning the game. Jim had never seen so much food prepared all at the same time. The feast would be magnificent. 

A runner approached the village and went straight to Apurimac. With short, barked orders he called the warriors to provide a guard of honor, while the women scurried away to their huts and the elders retired to the meeting circle. Jim stood next to Incacha and waited patiently. He was dressed like all the other warriors, in a short skirt-like affair, and had painted his face and chest. As an apprentice to Incacha his face was marked in red, but in his position as a sentinel he wore his own markings on his forearm. He listened as the Yacaya approached. 

As he counted the number of warriors from their footsteps, his eyes closed and one sound grew louder. One of the approaching party was dragging his feet. They shuffled rather than strode purposefully. Once they stumbled and were righted to the sounds of flesh on flesh and a cry of pain that was cut short. Jim turned to Incacha. He found the shaman's hand on his shoulder and heard his quiet voice, "Stand fast, young one; you must hold your place in line." 

Jim nodded and Incacha's hand squeezed firmly in acknowledgement. 

Jim could see the party long before most others. He started to breathe heavily. The sound of the stumbling footsteps was joined by the smell of an unwashed, bloodied body. It made Jim nauseous, but he wanted to smell it and took a deep breath. He gagged. At the back of his throat the harsh taint of fear, fever and diseased flesh made him turn his head and spit to remove the vileness from his palate. Sunlight caught on something and burned into his eyes causing him to blink hard. His breathing grew heavier and he could feel Incacha tighten his grip on his shoulder until it was painful. At the sight of the Yacaya sentinel, Jim swayed. 

Incacha spoke one word, fiercely, "Stand!" 

Jim steadied, but felt the tremors run through his body. His mouth was dry. As the Yacaya sentinel stepped to one side to talk to another warrior, Jim's entire world zeroed in on the man behind him. 

The man was short, about five-eight, five-nine, Jim reckoned. He had long brown hair that was lank and dirty, but still retained the odd curl. He was bare-chested, but wore modern style cargo pants that were cut and frayed and stained with blood, dirt and other things Jim did not want to acknowledge. He was not a native, Jim realized. Focusing his sight Jim catalogued the bruises, cuts, grazes and marks that littered the man's body. Jim grimaced when he recognized human teeth marks. The man swayed where he stood. Jim could almost sense his weakness and wondered what was keeping him on his feet; he looked ready to drop. There was a wide leather collar around his neck, which had rubbed the skin, so that it was broken, sore and bleeding. A long leash was attached to the collar; the other end was held in the Yacaya sentinel's hand. 

Jim was disgusted; the man was being treated like a pet. No, Jim thought to himself, worse than a pet, more like some sort of stray dog being dragged along. The man shuffled his feet in an effort to stay upright. Jim took half a step towards him, but Incacha's nails dug into the flesh of his shoulder. Another hand restrained him and Jim turned his head to find the Chopec sentinel at his side, one hand on his arm. Jim turned back to the young man. His head was bowed, the lanky hair creating a veil across his face. His feet were bare, the toenails torn, and scratches covered the whole of both feet up to the ankles. His hands were bound together in front of him, the skin at his wrists paler than the rest of his exposed skin, evidence that his restraints had been in place for a long time. As the Yacaya sentinel moved forward again he tugged unnecessarily harshly on the leash and the young man staggered, barely keeping upright. Jim growled low in his throat, but made no move towards the badly treated man. 

The procession of Yacaya warriors continued. When the last of them passed Jim, he turned away and, rubbing his hands across his face, he made his way angrily to his hut. Incacha followed him. Jim sat in the centre of the hut looking towards the door. 

"Who is he?" he demanded of Incacha. 

"You know who he is, Enqueri. Search your memory." 

A half-remembered wisp of something not quite there had plagued Jim since he had first seen the younger man. He closed his eyes trying to find some inner calm in the turmoil of his feelings. He felt Incacha's hand on his back, part of him realizing that he had not heard Incacha move to stand behind him. Deep breaths concentrated his senses and Jim's pulse quieted as he listened to the shaman. 

"What do you smell?" 

Jim isolated the abused man's smell, stripped away the blood, the sweat, the dirt, the fear, the other rank smells and slowly became aware of the essence of the man. It was a smell that calmed and soothed him, made him feel comfortable and at ease, despite the circumstances. It started slowly. One by one he matched the scent against other smells he had experienced. Something inside Jim shifted and the process of comparison and cataloguing became quicker. He had the sensation of rushing headlong to some unknown conclusion. He felt himself running even as he knew he sat cross-legged on the floor. He smiled, realizing the scent he was chasing was just around the corner. Mentally he stopped abruptly. In his memory he was back on a trail standing in front of a tree, a tree with blood and hair on its bark. This was the same man, the one who had struggled to follow his group leader, the one who had been hurt. Jim lifted his head, opened his eyes and lunged forward. Incacha, with his hand on Jim's back, held him fast. Jim ended up on all fours facing the door. He lifted his head again and screamed the pain of the young man from his own throat. As his voice left him, he dropped his head and closed his eyes. 

"Enqueri?" Incacha asked. 

"He's mine and I want him," Jim whispered. 

"He shall be yours," Incacha reassured Jim, "but not yet." 

Jim's head snapped up and he stared angrily at the shaman, not understanding. 

"Be warned, sentinel, if you do not follow the path then the two of you will be lost forever." Jim glared, but Incacha brushed the anger aside. "Hear me, young one, or you will never be together." 

Jim stood suddenly and shook the shaman's hand from his back. "I need to wash," he said tersely and stomped from the hut. 

Incacha closed his eyes. "Why do you make them suffer? Has the guide not suffered enough?" he asked the empty hut. 

The spirits did not answer him, for they had shown their shaman what was to come many moons ago. They did not feel it necessary to repeat themselves. 

Incacha nodded sadly, "I know, I know, but it will be hard on both of them and there is much pain in this land now, too much bloodshed, and too much death." In one corner of the hut the air shimmered. Incacha caught a glance of a large grey wolf, which disappeared before it became an image. He spoke to the departing apparition. "Be strong young guide; you have a long painful path to travel." 

* * *

Jim stayed in the water too long. The pool he used was served by a small waterfall and at its centre the current was strong. Jim had dived in, swimming under the water until his lungs forced his head up, seeking oxygen. As he rose out of the water he was hit with the full force of the waterfall. He stayed there treading water, letting the deluge wash away the dirt he imagined on his skin, wanting to drown the feelings of helplessness and frustration he was trying hard to control. 

When the cold became too much he kicked with his legs and moved easily to the outer edges of the pool, away from the current. He lay on his back floating, small movements of his hands keeping him in the same place. Jim looked up into the sky. The occasional bird flittered across his view and, even though his head rested partially submerged, he knew there were two Chopec warriors watching him. If he wanted to try hard enough he could probably work out who they were. He preferred to picture in his mind the young man he had seen earlier, to dwell on the depravities he had so apparently suffered and to stoke his own anger. Incacha did well to set a guard on him, Jim thought. In the mood he was in he was tempted to race over to the Yacaya contingent and drag the man away from his tormentor. Slowly the immediate anger and frustration passed and he was left with a cold determination which was more fierce and unrelenting than any anger. As he walked from the pool to his hut, Jim's shadows followed him. He ignored them. 

* * *

The Chopec sat on one side of the meeting circle, allowing the visitors the honor of taking up the whole of the other side. The Yacaya sentinel sat to the right hand side of his chief, the normal recognized position for a man of his standing within the tribe. The Chopec sentinel took a similar position by the side of Apurimac. Incacha, as the Chopec shaman, sat to the left of the chief. Jim sat just behind Incacha; that little bit further away from those given priority, but close enough to acknowledge his position in the tribe's hierarchy. Being that little further away from the light of the fires, Jim knew his face was partially in shadow and he took advantage of that to study the Yacaya sentinel and his companion. 

Jim did not eat with the others. He had sat down with an appetite, but one look at the young man's face had left the food in his mouth tasting of ashes. There was a fresh bruise around the young man's right eye. Blood had pooled underneath the eye causing a purplish-black mark to form and stain the skin. Blood leaked from his nose. It wasn't much, but it was constant and every so often he would bring up his bound hands and wipe the blood on the back of his forearm like a snot-ridden street kid in the cold of the ghetto. Jim's appetite fled and the cold lump in the pit of his stomach grew. 

Apurimac welcomed the Yacaya and, after the appropriate words of greeting and thanks were spoken, each person around the circle who wanted to speak was given a turn and listened to with respect and without comment. Jim's turn came and he once again expressed his concerns. He knew from the faces around the circle that his words would not sway the elders, but he felt better for having said them. As he spoke he watched the Yacaya sentinel, Ullasku, eager to judge his reaction. The man was an idiot. He had hardly paid any attention to any of the Chopec speakers and, although with his enhanced hearing he didn't have to concentrate on each of the speakers, it was respectful to do so. By showing such a lack of honor, the Yacaya sentinel did more than Jim's words ever could to turn the Chopec elders away from an alliance. 

Before Jim spoke and after, while he sat behind Incacha, he continued to watch the young man. He kept his head bowed, so Jim still couldn't see his full face, but he could tell by the way the young man struggled to stay upright that physically he was not improved from earlier in the day. Not once throughout the gathering had the Yacaya sentinel offered the young man anything to eat or drink. Jim leaned forward as an idea came to him and he whispered in Incacha's ear, careful to keep his voice as low as possible. As far as Jim could tell, his words to Incacha went unheard by the Yacaya sentinel, which interested Jim briefly. Incacha nodded and turned to talk to the Chopec medicine man, who sat next to him. It was almost like Chinese whispers. The medicine man gestured one of the women forward and spoke in her ear. In turn she spoke to Apurimac's wife, who then spoke to her husband. 

When the next speaker sat down Apurimac held up his hand and silence fell around the circle. He addressed the Yacaya chief. 

"Your guide is unwell?" he asked the chief. 

"His sentinel tends him," came the reply. 

It was obvious from his tone that the Yacaya chief was unsure as to why Apurimac had brought up the subject. He also made it clear the enquiry was unwelcome. 

"Indulge me. My wife tells me your guide reminds her of a young warrior from our tribe who was recently killed by the invaders. She wishes to tend to your guide." 

Ullasku was becoming agitated. He remained seated, but Jim could hear his whispered, but urgent, mutterings to his own chief. He did not want anyone near his guide. 

Apurimac pressed on. He gestured to one of the tribal elders sitting close by. "The father of my wife is very attentive of his daughter. What pleases her pleases him and where she is inclined then he often follows." Apurimac's words hung in the air. There was no threat in them, but their meaning was very clear. "Please," Apurimac appeared subservient. "Allow my wife to see to your guide's needs. It would mean much to me and her father to see her happy." The promise was in the words again, but by including himself in the woman's sphere of influence, Apurimac was upping the ante. 

The Yacaya chief had little option but to agree or he would be offending both Apurimac and the tribal elder. Gesturing with his hand, the Yacaya chief dismissed Ullasku's heated words. "Your wife is kind, Apurimac. I give our guide into her care." There was a particular emphasis on the last two words. 

Apurimac nodded. "The guide will be safe with the women." In turn Apurimac had given a pledge that the guide would stay only with the female members of the tribe. 

Jim cursed silently. His aim had been to separate the young man from his sentinel. Now his actions had created another obstacle to overcome. Jim made to move, but Incacha turned quickly and ordered him to stay still. Jim started to protest, but was cut short by the shaman. 

"Do not dishonor Apurimac, Enqueri," he warned. 

Jim seethed as he sat and waited. He used his senses to follow what was happening. Apurimac's wife had led the young man from his place on the outer edges of the circle. Jim watched as she shouldered most of his weight and steadied his uneasy gait. An hour passed in agonizing slowness for Jim. His jaw was clamped tight the entire time. He ignored all the speeches listening only to the women as they washed, cleaned and dressed the young man and his wounds. It took a long time and there was much muttering and anger at the state of the cuts and grazes, many of which were infected. 

Apurimac's wife had a vicious turn of phrase when the mood took her, as Apurimac often experienced. She may have been roped into Jim's conspiracy unknowingly, but the sight of the young man's battered body had washed away any resentment she might have felt in a flood of concern and motherly instincts. Eventually they fed the young man, but such was his pain at their kind treatment that she had to cajole him to eat, much like she had her own infant children. Once she was satisfied she had done all she could, she spoke so that Jim could hear her. "You may come now, Enqueri." 

Jim stood swiftly and left the circle, knowing that the Yacaya sentinel was watching his every move. He knew he would need to be careful. If Ullasku discovered him with the young man then there would be hell to pay and not just from the Yacaya. He would have gone against Apurimac's word and the Chopec would be mortally offended. It might just put an end to his own alliance with the Chopec, though Jim was hoping that his value to the tribe would outweigh his insult to the chief, if it came to that. If it did and the Chopec allowed Jim to continue to work with them, then their relationship would be changed forever. Jim would still be able to carry out his mission, but he would no longer be a member of the tribe. He would be an outsider. His place in the tribe had been achieved slowly. Jim had worked hard to gain the trust of the fierce, proud Chopec warriors and was rightly pleased with the relationships he had forged. Now he was willing to risk all that for one man. 

As Jim walked across the village his steps slowed. The realization of what he was putting at risk brought him up short. He was a career officer with a mission and clear delineated objectives. Why would he now jeopardize all that? His feet stopped. He could hear the women still fussing over the young man who seemed to be slipping towards sleep, he could hear the next warrior addressing the two tribes and in the distance animal noises pervaded the jungle. 

Jim looked up at the stars. He had never got quite used to the beauty of the heavens in this part of the world. The stars were brighter, the heavens a deep indigo blue that seemed as rich as velvet. Jim stretched out with his senses, not to all those in the village or the jungle beyond, but upwards. Each point of light had a slightly different color. The gauzy trails of nebulas and asteroid belts reflected the glow of nearby heavenly bodies and threatened to overwhelm his sight. He had accepted some months ago that he was a sentinel and had even gone so far as to contemplate what that would mean when he returned home to the US. The presence of a guide by his side had not really been factored into his thinking. Incacha had told him he would need one and in his cryptic way had told Jim that his guide would find him while he was with the Chopec, but that had always been something that would happen in the future. Jim accepted Incacha as a teacher, he was used to that concept, but this ephemeral person, this guide, was something he couldn't quite get his head round. He had asked Incacha many times what this guide did and for each suggestion Jim had made, Incacha had said yes. According to Incacha the guide had a job description that defied belief. 

"No one could ever do all that," Jim had declared. 

"One will," Incacha had responded quietly and Jim had snorted in disbelief. 

He wondered if this man was really his guide. And even if he was, Jim questioned whether he should put his mission at risk to save him. He put that thought to one side. It was too big a question to ask or answer, yet. 

Jim rationalized: this man was not a native. He was American or European, from what little Jim had seen of his features. He was obviously in a state of ill health and had been badly abused, even tortured, probably by Ullasku. There was a good chance the man had been raped or at least sexually assaulted. Could Jim in all conscience, as a soldier of the United States armed forces allow the man to continue to be maltreated in this way? Didn't he have a moral obligation to render assistance? Jim sighed. "Fuck!" he said out loud, not realizing that it was the first time in many weeks that he had spoken in English, well Anglo-Saxon to be accurate. Resorting to his training when he couldn't come up with any answers for his own questions, Jim made a decision. 

"I need Intel. This guy has been with the Yacaya for upwards of three months, so he can answer some questions." 

With a purpose that was simple and straightforward Jim strode to a small hut set aside for the sick and wounded. Sweeping past the cover at the opening, he ducked and went inside. 

* * *

Only Apurimac's wife remained in the hut by the time Jim arrived. She sat cross-legged on the bare earth floor. The man lay on a low lying pallet not unlike the one Jim used for a bed. He was covered up to his chin in brightly colored blankets. Despite this Jim could still see the shivers that wracked his body. The woman moved to the door as Jim strode to the side of the sleeping man. 

"When he wakes make him drink. He needs the liquid. If he will eat there is some fruit at the foot of the bed," she said firmly. 

Jim nodded. "How is he?" 

She tutted through missing teeth. "I would not treat an animal as badly as he has been treated. He would take many days to heal if he was left in our care. How long has he been with the Yacaya?" She asked changing the subject. 

"We think three full moons," Jim replied. 

"He will not last another three if he goes back to them." 

Jim remained silent. The woman stared at Jim, but did not push him for any more words. Jim took her place on the floor and waited patiently. He catalogued the young man, finally getting a good look at his face. The women had shaved him. He looks so young thought Jim. Bruises and cuts marked what was a handsome, almost beautiful face. The cheekbones were pronounced even as he slept, testament to the abuse he had suffered. The heartbeat was steady and strong and breath escaped from between pale lips. The long hair had been washed and, as it dried, curls formed which clung to the sleeping man's face. It was almost a cherubic image. A small moan disturbed Jim's reverie and he realized the man was waking. 

* * *

Blair woke disorientated. Most days he woke to shouts, punches and kicks and to the demands of Ullasku that he didn't want to contemplate. This was different, he was alone, he was warm and he felt clean and comforted; totally alien concepts to him lately. He also felt full. He remembered eating, and gentle hands washing him and cleaning the dirt and blood off his body. Sitting up he groaned and put a hand to his head. 

"Take it easy," a voice ordered. 

Blair's breath caught in his throat and he shot away from the voice in panic. His heart thundered and his terror blinded him to the fact that the man he now realized was sitting next to him was not only not Ullasku, but had spoken to him in English. 

"It's okay, don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you." 

Blair stayed where he was, not trusting the words he had heard, but a part of him at least registered that the man was not his tormentor. 

"You're not Yacaya?" he asked quietly. 

He could hardly see the man next to him, but what light there was allowed him to take in the dog tags and the bandana. 

"You're American?" he whispered, afraid to hear his question answered in the negative. 

"Captain James Ellison, Seventy-Fifth Rangers, at your service." 

The voice was rough, as though its owner was unused to speaking, but kind. Blair was dumbfounded. Of all the things he had dreamed of, rescue by an Army Ranger was not one of them. It had been in the beginning, but since he had become Ullasku's guide his dreams had been of escape at most and the blessed release of death at least. He bit down on a sob, knowing if he let it go it would become some sort of hysterical outburst that would be the undoing of him. 

"Here drink this," the voice suggested and from the gloom a hand pushed a bowl towards his face. 

Blair still had his mouth clamped shut and now seemed incapable of anything else. A hand touched the back of his head encouraging him to drink. Nightmare images of other hands forcing his head to do other things, things that sickened and choked Blair, rushed at him and he screeched at the man in an almost incoherent "No!" and threw himself off the pallet and into a corner, his arms wrapped around his legs, making himself as small as possible. He could hear himself chant, "No!" over and over again as though saying the word would protect him. It never had in the past. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Here, just drink, it will do you good." 

The bowl was placed in front of Blair and the man backed off. Blair watched him. He made no move to come forward. Blair stole a quick glance at the bowl. It looked like milk inside. He licked his lips. It was such a long time since he had eaten his full and been allowed to slake his thirst, that he desperately wanted to drain the bowl of its contents. He didn't trust the man, but he had a vague recollection of someone feeding him something recently that had tasted of milk. He touched his hair feeling the clean curls and looked at his feet bound in bandages. The women who had cared for him had given him the milk. His hand reached out slowly. The man didn't move. As Blair's fingers reached the bowl he flinched almost expecting a blow to punish his impertinence. When it didn't come he became bolder, pulling the bowl towards him and finally sipping at the contents. It tasted good and he allowed a small sigh of contentment to slip out. He stiffened as he heard the man chuckle, but he finished drinking. 

With the bowl back on the floor, Blair leaned back against the walls of the hut. He wasn't giving up the little protection he had, even though he was growing cold. His eyes darted to the blanket, betraying him. 

"Think you could manage some fruit?" the man asked. 

Blair nodded once. The man stood and moved to the bottom of the bed. With his back turned, Blair reached forward and grabbed a corner of the blanket he had left behind in his panic. 

"Why don't you take a blanket, chief? Keep warm. It can get chilly round here at night." 

Blair started. He didn't know how the man knew what he had been doing, but he wasn't giving up the blanket unless he was forced to. The plate of fruit was placed beside the bowl and once again the man backed off. Blair stared at the plate. All the fruit had been sliced. It was all soft and tempting. He knew it wouldn't hurt his stomach, which was not used to much food, or aggravate his teeth, some of which, he had noticed recently, had started to feel loose. He reached forward and took one piece. The flavor burst on his taste buds exquisitely and he snatched at a second piece. He waited for a reaction, but when none was forthcoming he pulled the plate towards him and eventually picked it up, balancing it on his knees as he ate with his fingers. 

"What's your name?" the man asked. 

Blair stopped eating, putting the plate back on the floor. It still had half a dozen slices on. He licked his fingers, tasting the sharp juices, but he didn't reply. 

"You can eat it all," the man told him. 

"Full," Blair said. 

"Want more to drink?" 

Blair nodded, getting bolder. The bowl was refilled and placed in front of him. Blair drank it all down and then watched the man in front of him. Neither one said anything. 

"Blair Sandburg," he said eventually, surprising himself that the words came so easily to his lips. There had been days, he was sure, when he would not have known who he was. The silence lengthened again. 

"What are you doing here, Blair Sandburg?" 

That was too big a question for Blair to answer and besides something was happening in his bowels that he needed to do something about fairly quickly. He squirmed where he sat and searched the hut for an answer. The man stood. 

"Need to go?" he asked. 

Blair nodded, unsure how the man had guessed at his discomfort. Pushing himself up, using first the floor and then the hut walls, Blair was not expecting the hand that grabbed his arm and steadied him when the hut spun out of control. At least this time I didn't go postal on the man, thought Blair, though it had taken all his self control not to scream at the man to let him go. 

"I'm okay," Blair stated and the man released his arm. 

Blair had been lying, the room was still doing lazy gyrations that made him feel nauseous, but part of him was reassured that the man had let him go when prompted to do so. The man, Ellison, Blair reminded himself, Captain James Ellison, lifted the cover over the opening to the hut and let Blair walk through first. Once in the open Blair searched for Ullasku, relaxing when he realized the two of them were the only people he could see. 

"This way," Ellison said, pointing with his arm. 

It took Blair a few seconds to realize he had to travel in the direction the soldier was pointing and then a few more to feel steady enough to take a first step. 

"Need a hand?" Ellison asked and moved towards him. 

Blair shrank in on himself, his arms wrapped around his body, his head pulled down towards his chest, his shoulders rounded. He didn't move, but his lips mouthed his chant of "No!" over and over again. Part of his mind told him that this man was not Ullasku, not like Ullasku, would not hurt him, but self-protection had become ingrained over the last three months and it was a lesson that he couldn't disregard that easily. His breath evened out and he slowly uncurled as he realized that the soldier had not only taken back the step he had made towards him, but he had moved further away. The soldier held out his hands, palms up to Blair as though surrendering. 

"Its okay, I just wanted to help. I'm not going to hurt you, Blair Sandburg. I'm not going to hurt you, trust me." 

Blair looked at the man. It was so strange to hear his name. For three months he had answered only to blows and kicks. Ullasku did not use a name for him, he had no need to. Why would you give a name to something you owned, something you used as you saw fit? It would be like naming your fridge or your vacuum cleaner. Now here was this man calling him by his given name and asking him for trust. Blair slowly shook his head. It was too much. He was confused, torn. The gyrations speeded up and what was happening in his bowels caused a wave of pain to radiate out through his body. He groaned, unable to cope. 

"This way," the strong voice urged and he managed a first step, which became a second and then a lurch of stuttering, muddled lunges that put one foot in front of the other like some sort of drunken dance. It was more luck than judgment which made him move, generally, in the direction the man was pointing. He got further than he thought he would before his knees gave way and he vomited on to the ground. He heard his retching and saw the white mixture between his hands. He felt cold and sweaty all at the same time. Blair spat to get the last of the sick from his mouth. 

"Are you okay?" the soldier asked. His face was down at a level with Blair's. "I'm sorry; I didn't think the fruit and milk would be too much." 

Blair heard the concern in his voice and would have been surprised at that if another cramp hadn't ripped through his bowels causing him to moan in pain. The soldier gripped his arm and dragged him to his feet. A second hand grabbed his other arm and he felt himself being propelled along, the soldier's bare arm across his back. As they reached the area the tribe used for a latrine, Blair became more animated. He pulled away from the soldier and scrabbled at the button and zip at the waist of his pants. He didn't need to pull his pants down. He had lost so much weight that it was only his hips that kept them up. With the button and zip undone they fell easily to his ankles and he squatted over the trench. Blair closed his eyes, somehow ashamed to be watched by this man. The pain in his bowels eased and he became aware that he was pretty much naked in front of an almost total stranger. Despite all that had happened to him in the past three months he still felt embarrassed. He could feel the heat in his face as the soldier handed him leaves from the piles lying around. As he wiped himself and stood slowly, grimacing at the soreness in his muscles, Blair didn't know what to do. He could feel the sweat on his forehead and thought it was the blush that had crossed his face. His thoughts felt slow and his mouth was dry. Blair didn't know what to say. His tongue felt too big for his mouth and he could still taste the bile and vomit. 

"You have a temperature, Blair," the soldier said, quietly placing the back of his hand on Blair's forehead. 

Blair swallowed, the dryness in his throat feeling harsh, making it difficult for him to talk. He felt the hand on his arm again. This time it guided him gently; there was no rush, no immediate danger. He let the soldier, Ellison he reminded himself again, wondering why was that so difficult to remember, guide him. It seemed like they walked for an age, but Blair didn't feel tired. He was hot and sweaty, but the hand that took him on leant him strength in some strange way he couldn't explain. Blair started to become aware of his surroundings. They were following a well worn path and up ahead he thought he could hear running water. 

As they turned a bend in the path Blair stopped. The scene before him was truly awe inspiring. A small waterfall fell into a river, not a big river, just a small one. In the middle of the river, where the falls boiled, the water swirled deep and mysteriously. The starlight reflected off the movement, giving the place an almost ethereal quality. Blair felt blessed to be witness to the beauty and majesty of nature. For a brief moment the horror of his life was wiped out and, in that instant, the tiniest seed of hope was planted in his heart. Nurtured deep within that part of him that he hid behind the wall he had built to keep himself sane, he didn't realize what had happened, but as Blair's eyes found their way to Ellison, Jim Ellison, he told himself, he gave that unbidden seed sustenance. 

"Come and sit down," Ellison told him. 

Blair sat gingerly on the river bank. Ellison slowly unwound the bandages from his feet. 

"Nudge forward," he told Blair. "But be careful, it will be cold." 

Blair gasped as his toes hit the black water. Ripples raced away towards the current and were lost in the flow. 

"Told you it was cold," Ellison smiled. 

Blair looked at him. For the first time there was enough light to see the man by his side properly. It was a face Blair would come to hate. 

* * *

Jim watched the young man as he stared at him. His long brown hair was now dry and, although Jim could still see flecks of dry vomit in the longest curls, it took all his self control to stop his hand reaching out to feel the silky tresses. Jim wondered what the man was thinking. He had a slight fever and there was the faintest sheen on his skin that the starlight reflected, creating a sort of nimbus around the man's head. Bruises and cuts aside, the face was handsome and would be more so if it carried a little more weight. The eyes were beautifully blue, though they had a slightly glazed expression in them right now. With a thin nose that plumped at the end to be almost snub-nosed and lips that were full and shaped in what a former girl-friend had previously informed him was bowshaped, Blair Sandburg was a man who would turn heads anywhere. Here in the South American jungle miles from civilization, Jim realized the truth of Incacha's words; this man was his guide, and in admitting that, he felt the first pull on the bond that Incacha said would hold them together forever. 

Jim blinked in consternation as the young man looked away. He wanted to know if Blair realized his role in Jim's life, if he knew that from now on they would be sentinel and guide, ancient and proud roles. 

Blair wiggled his toes and Jim smiled as he saw the young man relax just the smallest amount. Removing his bandana, Jim soaked it in the cold water. Before he handed it to Blair he wrung it out. Blair took the wet cloth and wiped it over his face. Jim could see the muscles lose some of their tension as the cold wiped away the sheen of sweat. Unwrapping the bandana, Blair laid it on the back of his neck so the two ends fell across his collar bones. 

"Thank you," Blair whispered quietly. 

"You're welcome," Jim replied. 

The silence stretched, but Jim wasn't embarrassed or disconcerted. There was a comfort in being with this man that his senses had never known before. Sight was way ahead of all the others, he had been cataloguing everything about the young man since the moment he had first seen him. Hearing ran a close second as he found himself latching on to the quiet beat emanating from the young man's heart. Smell was fairly in the middle. Jim had registered the man's smell when they first met, but now sitting here next to a clean Blair and drinking in the musky scent, tainted even though it was with sickness, he had to disregard some of those initial smells knowing that many of them had not been Blair. There had been dirt and semen, smells that even now wanted to make Jim rage, and blood and fear and more dirt that made Jim want to protect this man from the whole world. The smell of the Blair that sat next to him now, waggling his toes, was pure and sensuous and made Jim want to roar. Touch had been limited, but on occasion skin had felt skin and Jim had tingled at the connection, wanting more, but wary for the young man who had suffered so much. Taste had been non-existent, but this didn't worry Jim; his other senses were replete. 

Jim heard Incacha approaching and knew he had to warn the young man that their solitude was about to be broken. Jim could hear that Incacha came with others. He would deal with the fallout of his breach in etiquette in being with his guide in due course, but no admonishment from Incacha would have stayed him from this course tonight and he knew Incacha knew that. As Jim opened his mouth to speak, Blair got in first. 

"Have you come to take me home?" he asked without looking at Jim. 

For the first time that evening Jim felt the slightest twinge of guilt. He lifted one of Blair's feet from the river and rewrapped the bandages. He did the same with the other foot. 

"The Chopec shaman is coming," he said, knowing that he had both answered and not answered the young man's question. 

Blair drew his feet from Jim's hands and pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. It was a position he had adopted in the hut. Jim recognized subservience and fear when he saw it. His throat was tight as he stood and part of him was glad Blair had dropped his head to his knees; he knew Blair's eyes would condemn him for the coward he was for not answering the question. 

Incacha did have Chopec warriors with him, but he also had Ullasku with him and Jim's cowardice turned to anger in the face of the man who had hurt and abused his guide. 

"Enqueri!" Incacha ordered. 

Jim stood firm, watching as the Chopec warriors fanned out behind their shaman. Ullasku smiled knowingly and Jim wanted to rip the bastard's heart out with his bare hands. There was a power play going on here that Jim was determined not to lose. However brief a time he had spent with his guide it was enough for him to know he would fight for him if need be. His gaze held Ullasku. Jim felt the energy ripple between them. It was almost tangible, a tie between them that held them there in time and space. Jim wanted to grab hold and pull the bastard towards him so that when he was close enough his hands could grab at Ullasku's throat and squeeze the very air from his lungs. Obsessed with his hatred of the Yacaya man, Jim was peripherally aware that the Chopec warriors had moved closer and were now standing in a loose circle with himself, Ullasku and Incacha inside. Without thinking Jim also knew that his guide was shivering, though whether that was from the cold or from fear he couldn't tell. 

"Enqueri," Incacha called again. 

Jim continued to ignore him, maintaining his face to face with Ullasku. He was forced to blink hard and refocus quickly when Incacha stood in front of him and put an arm on his shoulder. 

"Enqueri, you must let him go." 

"I can't, Incacha. Don't ask me to do this. He's my guide." 

"No," Incacha said firmly, interrupting Jim. "He will be your guide. Your time is not yet come." 

Jim looked incredulously at the man who had been his friend and mentor for the last fifteen months. 

"Don't give me any of that mystic bullshit," Jim hissed. "You know what he's been doing to that man. How can you let him go back to that?" 

"I don't have to let him go back, you do," Incacha answered quietly. 

"I can't let him do that." Jim was forcibly intense. 

"Do you trust me, Enqueri?" Incacha asked. 

It was the question that broke Jim Ellison. He knew as soon as it was asked what would happen. The man standing in front of him had saved his life and his sanity. Jim had put his life in a stranger's hands and in the time between then and now the man had healed him, helped him and handed him control of the senses that now ruled his life, the very senses that made him crave the safety of Blair Sandburg. 

"Don't, Incacha. Please," Jim begged the older man. Jim felt his enmity with Ullasku slip through his fist. Anger at his own frustration and inability to act swept round him like leaves swirling in a fall storm. "I can't," he declared to Incacha knowing that he had already given Blair up. 

"You can," Incacha told him. "You must, if you wish him to be your guide." 

Jim dropped his head. He didn't want to see what would come next. Led by Incacha and shepherded by the Chopec warriors, Jim stumbled back along the path that led to the village. He was disgusted with himself, with his weakness and while he could not watch what was happening between Blair and Ullasku, he could not desert his guide completely. Listening to the sounds of the two men, he snapped his head up and turned abruptly when he heard Blair's gasp of pain. With his enhanced sight he could see Blair now standing in front of Ullasku. The Yacaya sentinel had a hand twisted harshly in Blair's newly washed hair and had pulled the young man's head to one side. Ullasku had bitten deeply into Blair's shoulder. He stared at Jim, laughing, Blair's blood in his mouth. Blair tried to turn his head away, but Ullasku's free hand clamped it in place. Jim locked his jaw and balled his hands into fists again. He knew exactly what Ullasku was doing. Blair was being marked and claimed as Ullasku's territory, his property. Jim shrugged off Incacha's grip on his arm and strode back towards Ullasku. The Yacaya sentinel took a few steps towards Jim. He kept his grip in Blair's hair and the young man was held in place by his tormentor. Unable to pull away from Ullasku, Blair was left with no option, but to grab hold of Ullasku's wrist to try and stop some of the pain from his hair being pulled from his scalp. Jim stopped, allowing Ullasku to stop. He could hear Blair's gasps of pain as the stress on his hair lessened. Jim drew himself to his full height. 

"Challenge is made," he uttered stonily, repeating words spoken from time immemorial. 

"Challenge is accepted." 

Ullasku laughed and threw Blair to the ground. The younger man lay between the two men his chest heaving as he tried to stop the bleeding. Incacha broke the stalemate, reclaiming his sentinel-in-training from the standoff. Jim turned reluctantly, leaving his guide in the hands of a monster for a second time that evening. As he allowed himself to be led away a thought, unbidden, came to him. A sacrificial lamb laid across an altar, a lamb with beautiful blue eyes clouded with pain and sadness. Guilt and cowardice defeated him and suddenly he ran, his footsteps pounding into the earth. He ran to escape the image and to escape his own guilt. He knew he might outrun one, but he knew he would never outrun the other. 

He ran for nearly two miles before he stopped, gulping in the air that he really didn't need, but which he wanted to rid himself of the heavy feeling in his chest. He knew Incacha had run with him. The shaman's footfalls had been almost silent behind him. The two men stood side by side. 

"Never ask me to do that again, Incacha," Jim warned. 

In that second he knew that his relationship with Incacha had been changed forever. The student had grown up and graduated all in one fell swoop. 

"It was too much to ask." 

He heard Incacha sigh and looked up at him suspiciously. 

"The spirits have shown me your path, Enqueri, and your guide is not yet ready," Incacha said simply, as if that made everything alright. 

Jim stepped so that he was face to face with Incacha. "I don't care what your fucking spirits say," he snarled, flecks of spittle hitting Incacha's placid face. "I will not allow that man to be abused by that motherfucker. I don't care how much of a dent that puts in your little cosmic plan. The spirits can go fuck themselves for all I care." 

Jim turned and strode angrily back to the village. His breathing grew heavier as his anger built. Arriving back at the village he went straight to his hut. He bristled as he heard Incacha follow him inside. Turning angrily he was disconcerted and put off to find Incacha sitting cross-legged on the floor of his hut drinking from the animal skin pouch that was habitually slung at his waist. He offered the pouch to Jim, who sank to his knees and took several deep gulps, as though trying to wash a bad taste from his mouth. Incacha settled into a relaxed position, one that Jim knew he used when he meditated. Jim swayed and put a hand to the side so that he could slide from his knees to the floor. When the slide continued and took him all the way down so that he was lying on the floor, he knew he had been drugged. 

"You bastard," he managed to grind out before everything went dark. 

* * *

Incacha reached out with his hand and gently stroked the slightly long hair and smiled. 

"Sleep well, Enqueri. There will be much which will rob you of your sleep and haunt your dreams before this is done." The hand stilled and lay upon Jim's head as though it were offering a benediction. "Hold fast, Enqueri. The spirits have spoken. He will be yours ... in the end." 

Incacha stood and pulled the blanket from the bed to cover the sleeping man. He settled cross-legged again next to Enqueri. Slowing his breathing, he closed his eyes and slipped into his normal meditative state. Pushing further this time, Incacha took himself to a plane of existence he rarely visited. What he was about to do took a great deal of strength, but Enqueri wasn't the only one feeling guilty over the young American's fate. Incacha felt the need to watch over him in some way, to share his pain. 

* * *

The Chopec shaman walked the night. He had traveled with the spirits many times before, but he rarely walked alone, hidden to all, in the spaces in between the living world and the spirit world. From his experience of the two occasions it had happened before, he knew it took much of his energy and that the next day he would feel weak and disorientated. Nevertheless he needed to do this, wanted to do it. As a shaman he was used to the spirits, he did their bidding in the living world and interceded with the spirits on behalf of the living in their world. He might work for the spirits, but he didn't have to like how his employers went about their business. In this case he trusted the spirits, but what they had in mind for the young man with long hair left a nasty taste in his mouth. He had tried to argue with them, but they would not be swayed. 

He understood Enqueri's anger and he knew the tall American would never accept the spirit's will as Incacha had. Putting the young sentinel into a drugged sleep allowed Incacha to do now what he had to do without having to worry that the man would turn up at the young guide's hut and kill the Yacaya sentinel as he had threatened to do. Besides, over the next few days Enqueri would need to be at his best if both he and his guide were to survive. 

Incacha stood outside the hut that the women of the village had set aside for the little guide. Despite the seriousness of the situation those words brought a smile to his face; 'little guide', was a good name for the young man. Once this was all over and the guide was learning his role amongst the Chopec he would talk to Apurimac about the naming of the young man. A moan of pain brought him back to the task at hand. Taking a deep breath he walked through the wall of the hut and stood inside watching. 

* * *

_I don't understand, why won't he help me? How can he let this happen? I can't do this anymore. Please, God, please don't let him hurt me again. I can't do this. I can't. Please, someone, help me._

* * *

"Did you think you could get away from me? You are mine, not his. No one else wants you, boy. Did you spread your legs for him? Did you let him fuck you? Maybe you just sucked him. Is that what you did, cocksucker? That's the only way any one is going to want your ass, you know that, offered up in the air like a dirty little fuckboy? Is that what you gave the norteAmericano?" 

* * *

Ullasku stood over the young man, pushing at him with his foot. The man, with his hands bound in front of him was trying to crawl, crab-like, across the floor away from the swinging foot. Every so often the foot would come in hard, making firm contact with the man's back or ribs, eliciting a small whimper of pain. There was fresh blood on his face, but Incacha couldn't tell how it had got there. Eventually there was nowhere for the young man to go and he curled into a ball, his back taking the brunt of the kicks that came more often and harder. 

Panting with the excitement of his dominance, Ullasku dropped to his knees behind the young man and grabbed hold of his hair. Incacha felt sick, but he would not leave the sight of the forthcoming desecration. The spirits forbade his interference in the path the young man had to walk, but that did not mean he had to walk it alone. Incacha knew his reasoning was dubious at best, but he had decided on this course of action and had sworn himself to it. A little nausea would not turn him away now. 

Ullasku was whispering into the young man's ear. Incacha crossed the hut and squatted so that he could touch the young man; he reached out and laid his hand on his head. He expected the Yacaya sentinel to sense his presence somehow. It was his experience that there was something in a sentinel's heightened sense of touch that could feel him even in this incorporeal state. He didn't know why it was like that, especially as he could not be seen by man or sentinel, but the Chopec sentinel had told him that when Incacha had passed through his body it had felt like a whole army of ants marching over his skin. Ullasku didn't even flicker. He showed no reaction to Incacha's closeness. Incacha hid that little thought away to consider later and concentrated on the matter in hand. 

Taking a tight hold of the young man's hair, Ullasku had positioned himself so that when the young man was pulled onto his knees, he would be perfectly placed. Incacha looked down at the young man and concentrated. 

* * *

_I didn't do anything. It was him, Ellison. He took me away. I didn't do it. Don't please. I couldn't stop him. No! Let go of my hair! Don't do this, please, don't. I'm sorry I won't leave you again. I'll be your guide just don't, please, don't hurt me anymore._

* * *

"You clean up well. You smell nice. I'm glad they made you clean for me, worm. I can make you dirty again. Is that what you want? Do you want me to rub my sweat, my dirt, my cum into your skin? Do you like that, fuckboy? Do you want the world to know you are mine? You're not answering me, whore, curled up in a ball like a little mouse, trying to hide from me. I don't care what you want. You are mine. Your body is mine, your heart is mine, your soul is mine and you know what else is mine? Your ass is mine and I'm going to fuck it so that you won't forget you are mine. You will forget the norteAmericano, you are dead to him, and he is dead to you. You exist only for me, for my pleasure. I can as easily kill you as I can fuck you. Maybe I will do both at the same time. Shall we see how close to death you can come, fuckboy? On your knees boy, show me that ass. On your knees, or do you want me to take the strap to you again? On your knees!" 

* * *

Incacha shook with anger, frustration and revulsion. This behavior sickened him. In the past the tribe had discovered individuals, both within its ranks and from outside, not unlike Ullasku and had dealt with them, if their crimes had been inflicted on the tribe, in accordance with tribal custom. One such had taken a woman from the tribe and had tried to rape her. She had fought her attacker and Muyuna, the Chopec sentinel, had found them before the man succeeded, but the woman had been badly beaten. It was one of the young warriors who had lusted for the woman and had been rejected by both her and her family. In his frenzy he believed that once he had taken her to his bed she would have to be his, whether he had forced her or not. Tribal punishment was harsh. If he had succeeded in raping her he would have been put to death. For his actual crime he was castrated. The young woman let his genitals shrivel in the sun where everyone could see them until they were dry and then wore them around her neck as a prize. The man disappeared from the village one night and was never seen again. If Muyuna did this to his guide he would be torn limb from limb. Guides and sentinels were too precious to the tribe, they should not come to harm. Incacha hoped that the spirits had a suitable punishment planned for Ullasku, and for the Yacaya, who had not stopped him. 

The young man had struggled to his knees, seemingly unable to refuse, or perhaps just too scared not too. His whole body shook and although his lips moved no words could be heard. Ullasku was still not happy with the man, complaining of how long it had taken him to get to his knees and that even in that position he was still tightly curled in on himself, or at least in so far as he could. Ullasku wet two of his fingers and shoved them straight into the young man; the short punchy movements of his arm designed to cause the maximum pain while stretching the man's hole. There was hardly time to achieve what he wanted before Ullasku was forcing his cock inside the young man's ass, ignoring the grunts of pain. 

Incacha cursed the spirits and promised the Yacaya sentinel that his death would be slow and painful. He felt the need to leave, to take himself away from the scene he was now witnessing. He could almost see the stain spread across his soul, his very presence a taint that he would not be able to wash away, even over time. Ullasku continued his diatribe of castigations, the string of curses seemingly providing the sentinel with some sort of perverted accompaniment to his thrusts. 

Incacha dug deep into his soul and held on, forcing himself to watch. Insidiously he felt a tug at his mind. He concentrated. He was wrong; it wasn't a pull on his mind; it was a ripple in the spiritual ether that washed up against his mental shore. Incacha followed the path the ripple had taken and found himself surrounded by a high man made wall. There was no break in the wall; no way in and no way out. The wall formed a circle no more than ten feet or twelve feet across. It was a strange sort of cell, he thought. There were voices, no, one voice he could hear. It sounded lost, it sounded hurt. He concentrated even harder and reached out to the lonely sound. 

* * *

"Such a good boy. Such a sweet fuck. No one will take you, no one will have you. Only me, only me. Do you like that, worm? Was he as good as this? Did he fuck you as hard? Did he make you bleed? Did he make you scream? No one takes you from me. No one takes what is mine. Remember that, fuckboy. This ass is mine. I am the only one who fucks it, the only one that wants it. Are you listening to me, Kuru? Can you hear me under all that nice clean hair? Maybe I should cut it off? It amuses me. I like the feel of it. I like the feel of you, of being inside you, of owning you. You make me hard." 

* * *

_Don't, please. Leave my hair alone! Get your hands out of my hair. It hurts. Stop, please. Don't pull my hair. No, I can't do this. I have to get away._

_It's gone. I can't find it and it's all your fault Ellison. No! No! It hurts. Stop. Please, stop. It was here. You took it away. I need to hide. I need to find it. Oh God, it hurts so much. Where is it?_

_Here little one, come towards my voice. Come to me._

_Who are you?_

_I am Incacha, shaman of the Chopec._

_I don't understand. Oh God, please, it hurts._

_Little one, concentrate. Come to me. It is safe here._

_I don't know. I don't know you. I don't know._

_Trust me, little one. It is safe here. You will be safe._

_Where are you?_

_Reach out, little one. I am here._

_I can't see you._

_I am here in front of you. Reach out._

* * *

Incacha extended a spiritual arm and concentrated. He could see the determination on the young man's face, saw the toll the strain was taking and suddenly his arm stretched out further and made contact. The ether shuddered and they were both inside the circle of the wall. Incacha no longer held the young man's wrist, his hand rested on the head of a shaggy gray wolf. The pitiful creature lay on its side panting with exertion. Its pelt was dirty and matted, part of its hide almost bare. Old claw marks and newer teeth marks had left scars, scabs and blood all over the creature's body, one bite mark on the shoulder still fresh enough to be oozing blood. Incacha patted the wolf's head. The tail gave a half hearted wag and its tongue tried to find enough energy to lick the hand that showed it affection. The tongue failed and the head came to rest on the ground, the blue eyes closed. 

"Rest now, little one. You are safe here. He cannot hurt you here." 

The wolf opened its eyes and Incacha read gratitude in them as well as pain. Squatting beside the wounded animal, Incacha looked around again. 

"You are stronger than you look, wolf. You built this refuge didn't you?" 

The wolf continued to stare at Incacha. 

"The spirits were right; you will be the sentinel's guide. You will need all your strength to survive these next few days. You will need these walls to hide behind. I will help you when I can, wolf, and you must believe that your sentinel will be there for you when this is over and then nothing will separate you." 

The wolf struggled to its paws and rested a scarred and bloodied muzzle on Incacha's shoulder. The shaman smiled and scratched the wolf under the chin. The animal seemed to relax a little and Incacha thought he heard a quiet sigh. 

"Stay here, wolf, until the sentinel comes for you. I must leave now, but you will be safe here." 

Standing, Incacha bade the animal farewell and slipped back into the reality of the hut. Ullasku had finished with the young man and was now replacing the leather collar around his neck. The man on the floor did not move. His hands were still bound tightly in front of him. Keeping tight hold of the leather strap attached to the collar, Ullasku settled down on the pallet provided for a bed, leaving the young man lying on the cold hard ground. Once again Incacha put himself on a level with the young man and as his hand rested on the thick brown curls he realized pain-filled blue eyes were watching him. 

"So you can see me can you, little one?" Incacha asked knowing that Ullasku could not hear him. "The wolf was well chosen for you young guide; wise as well as brave. Stay strong, wolf, it is nearly over." 

Incacha felt his strength ebb. Maintaining this incorporeal presence took all his energies. He felt himself thin, felt the pull of his physical body and in between one blink and the next he was back with Enqueri, who slept on, unaware. Incacha slipped on to his side and, resting for a few heartbeats as he watched his sentinel, he finally slept himself. 

* * *

"Tomorrow you will walk behind me. Tomorrow you will show the norteAmericano that you are mine; that he cannot take you from me and then we will leave these Chopec. You will never see this man again. You are mine, my guide." 

* * *

_Safe. I am safe here. He can't hurt me here. I am safe, I am safe._

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR - A BETRAYAL**

Jim woke feeling better than he had for a long while. He stretched, feeling the pull of his well-used muscles, and then allowed himself to relax before turning over to lie on his back, staring up at the roof of his hut. Awareness of the day before shocked him to his feet and he immediately sent out his hearing for the heartbeat of the young man he had befriended and felt so strangely attached to. He found the rhythm; it was slightly fast but steady. Jim strode from the hut. Tucking the heartbeat deep inside himself he went in search of someone he was feeling less than kindly towards; Incacha. 

The shaman was eating with a group of young warriors. Jim stood close by bristling with indignation, wanting to confront the smaller man over, not least of all, the fact that he had drugged him the night before. Incacha acknowledged Jim's presence with a short nod of his head, but continued his conversation and meal, driving Jim's frustration to anger. Narrowing his eyes, Jim willed Incacha to finish. Eventually the shaman dismissed his young audience and rose to his feet. Turning to Jim, he held up one hand, exhorting Jim to silence. Jim was way past doing the shaman's bidding and stepped immediately into Incacha's personal space, batting away the raised hands and confronting his mentor toe to toe, face to face. 

"What do you think you were playing at?" Jim demanded to know. "You drugged me. You let that bastard take the kid away." 

His raised voice drew the attention of the stragglers leaving the gathering of warriors. Aware of their interest, Jim dropped the tone of his voice, but as if to counterbalance that he prodded at Incacha's chest with a belligerent finger. 

"You know what that bastard will have done to him." 

Incacha wasn't fazed by the outburst and sat down cross-legged on the ground. For a moment Jim felt the power of his position towering over the seated man, but he dropped to the floor to squat in front of Incacha as he continued to berate him. 

"How can you let him go through that again? This is not a fucking game for your spirits to play at," Jim snapped. 

Incacha glared at Jim and the sentinel was warned by the anger in his eyes. The two men stared at each other, both bodies leaning forward into the confrontation. The silence of the moment stretched on. Incacha was the first to back down. He patted the ground next to him, requesting Jim to sit. The offer was ignored; Jim remained squatting. He was still able to look down on the shaman; it gave him a physical edge that he needed to keep his anger reined back, for now. Incacha accepted the refusal with a shrug. 

"I went to the young man as you slept. I kept him as safe as I could." 

"But the bastard still raped him?" Jim asked, already knowing the answer. 

"It was not the first time and it will not be the last," Incacha said quietly. 

"Fuck!" Jim exclaimed, standing suddenly as though the enormity of the truth he had heard needed space to be understood and accepted. 

"Enqueri," Incacha said firmly. "Sit down." It was an order. Jim obeyed almost without knowing he had, his body reacting to his mentor's words. "The spirits have told me what will happen." Incacha ignored Jim's scowl and continued. "His is a long and painful path, but he will be your guide, eventually." 

"Eventually!" Jim spat the word back. "How long is he expected to survive with that miserable excuse for a sentinel? I want him away from that fraud now, today." 

"Which of his senses are enhanced?" Incacha insisted, picking up on Jim's comment. 

"What?" Jim was confused. "You are worried about which of his fucking senses are enhanced when he's making that kid's life a living hell?" 

"Yes," said Incacha simply. "It is important" 

Jim leaned forward, his hands held in fists as though taking a tight hold on his patience. "No it's not. I'll tell you what's important. What's important is getting that kid away from that evil shit. What's important is making sure that he doesn't suffer one more beating or one more rape while we sit here with our thumbs up our asses talking about what the fucking spirits want. Jesus Christ, he's an American citizen and I have a duty to protect him." 

Incacha laughed and Jim's fists uncurled. The callous attitude of the man in front of him astounded Jim. Incacha had saved him, nursed him, washed him, held him in his arms and let him weep when the pain was too much, but he was prepared to do nothing to save this young man. Jim was so taken aback at his mentor's attitude that he was shocked into a momentary silence; a moment in which apparently in the blink of an eye Incacha moved so that he knelt next to Jim, his mouth close enough to Jim's ear that he could feel Incacha's lips move as he spoke 

"This is all about duty, Enqueri, but not your duty to him as an American. It is his duty to you as your guide that is important here. If you do not let him follow his path he will never fulfill his destiny, he will never be your guide, and you will both be lost." 

Jim felt the strength of Incacha's words, felt their rightness in his heart and knew he was losing the argument. He was not ready to let go yet though. Jim shifted his position to put more space between himself and the painted man. 

"I can't let him suffer." 

"You can!" Incacha interjected harshly before Jim could say any more. "You must," he said gently. 

Jim shook his head. He knew he couldn't give up that easily, but he struggled for the words that would express his feelings, that would sway Incacha. 

The Chopec shaman sighed. "I will give you this day with your guide, Enqueri, but you must let him leave with Ullasku later today when the Yacaya return to their own lands." 

Jim considered the offer. "Ullasku will not let him go easily," he said, thinking that with Blair by his side he could find some way of making sure that the younger man stayed safe and didn't have to go back to Ullasku, even if it meant betraying Incacha. 

"Ullasku will have no choice," replied Incacha sternly. 

For a moment Jim thought Incacha was aware of his thoughts, but dismissed that, in his pleasure at knowing that Blair would soon be his. 

* * *

Incacha nodded at his student and left to speak to the Chopec chief's wife. Once again she would be instrumental in separating the young man from his tormentor, albeit temporarily. He knew what his sentinel planned, and knew just as well that it would not work. Once the spirits set your path, you walked that path or you failed. Sometimes he believed that you only failed when the spirits saw the weakness in your soul. He had seen the souls of both these men; neither was weak. They would endure, and they would reach their destiny, but it would be a hard journey. 

As he walked through the village his mind wandered back to the days before he stepped on his own path. They had been carefree days, days when he was in love and he dreamt of nothing more than a warm bed, a beautiful woman between his legs and maybe a family, one day. He gave it all up to become the Chopec shaman. The spirits were his mistress and the Chopec his family. A shaman's life was a solitary, but full existence and he didn't regret any of the sacrifices he had made or any of the time he had spent alone. He had never felt lonely; you couldn't feel like that with the spirits to keep you company. They had shared his life, his body and his mind; he trusted them to be true to him and to his tribe. Sometimes it was difficult to accept that trust when his instincts told him otherwise, even now, after all these years, but if the spirits asked for his understanding and patience then he was able to give it, ready to give it. The trainee sentinel would never be that accepting of the spirits, but he would learn in time to be that trusting of his guide and he would do so willingly. The little wolf would make sure of that. 

Apurimac's wife was as happy to assist Incacha again as she had been previously. She was the tribe's mother as well as the chief's wife, and it was a job she took seriously. There were those in the tribe who had called her interfering, but there were never many of those and Apurimac was quick to silence any whose voice was raised loudly against her. She chided, she comforted and, if it was necessary, she wasn't averse to doling out a short sharp shock. From the outset she had been protective of the young man. She had tutted at his poor condition the day before when Incacha had enlisted her aid and he knew from talk around the camp fires that she was not impressed that Ullasku had treated him so badly. Incacha believed if he had not asked her to help him, she would have done something herself. 

* * *

Later, as Incacha sat at the meeting circle, he watched Apurimac's wife subtlety move amongst the tribal elders. She didn't approach her husband at all. The formalities of the council had been undertaken and the discussions were well underway when Apurimac stopped proceedings exactly as he had done the previous day. One of the tribal elders stood and, in a quiet voice, asked if the Yacaya guide had been well cared for the day before. The Yacaya chief was obviously taken by surprise by the question and glanced briefly at Ullasku, who had turned at the same time to his guide. In fact all eyes turned to the guide. Incacha had already seen the fresh bruises and the bite mark on his shoulder that looked raw and painful, and so kept his features schooled to not show his distaste. Stiffening almost, the Yacaya chief responded by assuring the council of his gratitude for the attention of the Chopec women. The old man remained standing. 

"Your guide has a wound that needs dressing. My daughter has failed in her duty to treat your guide. To my shame my daughter has allowed your guide to suffer. Will you let her put right that wrong?" 

Apurimac's wife stood slightly behind her father, her head down, the picture of contrition. Incacha almost chuckled, she was so convincing. This was not the normal appearance of the woman who put the Chopec chief in his place on a regular basis and boxed the ears of the tribe's strongest warriors when they crossed her. The remaining elders of the Chopec started muttering, casting annoyed glances at the apparently ashamed woman. One or two even spoke loudly enough for the Yacaya chief to hear, muttering their displeasure at the dishonor she had brought upon them. There really was only one outcome and the 'chastened' woman was soon helping the young guide away from the meeting circle and back to the hut he had occupied the day before. Ullasku looked stunned and it took all of Incacha's control not to smile at how easily the sentinel had been outwitted. There was nothing Ullasku could say without showing a great dishonor to the Chopec and he was not about to gainsay his own chief who had given his permission for the removal of his tribe's guide. Apurimac's wife was a clever woman. Incacha vowed never to cross her. 

* * *

Jim waited quietly in the hut. Someone had been in before him and had cleared the bowls away, placed fresh water and cloths by the pallet and tidied the blankets. He sat by the pallet patiently. He followed the talk at the meeting circle and knew Blair was on his way. He felt excited and concerned all at the same time, uncertain of the reception he would receive after leaving the guide with Ullasku the night before. 

The medicine man entered the hut, stared at Jim and then placed his bags on the floor by the water and cloths. He dug out different ingredients and started to mix them, adding water to make a paste that caused Jim to wrinkle his nose in disgust. Neither man spoke. Jim stood as Blair was ushered into the hut. The room was overcrowded with four people in it and Jim quickly sat as the medicine man waved him down. Blair was helped to the pallet, his back to Jim. The bite mark was vicious and Jim winced at the bruising that was forming around the broken skin. Apurimac's wife pulled Blair's hair into a bunch at the nape of his neck. A slender leather tie was wrapped around the hair to pull it back out of the way. She shoved Jim to one side with a swing of her hips and sat down in the space he had been forced to vacate. The older woman stared at Jim as though challenging him. He returned her look putting all his own determination into his face. She smiled suddenly and returned her eyes to the injured man. Jim had the feeling he had passed some sort of test. He shrugged, unsure, and gave his attention to the medicine man who was bathing Blair's wound with a wet clean cloth. 

The blood had dried, and little of it was removed by washing. The salve that he had made earlier was smoothed onto the broken skin. Jim wondered briefly if the rule that applied to medicines that tasted bad being good for you, was the same for foul-smelling salves. He hoped so, because it would mean that the bite would be miraculously healed. A cloth was placed over the torn skin. Jim would have fastened the cloth with Band-Aid or sterile strips, but his first aid supplies had long since been used up. He couldn't see how the cloth would stay in place, but once the medicine man had patted down the cloth, it seemed to be stuck. Jim grimaced at the thought that paste that could heal as well as stick like glue. As the medicine man replaced the contents of his pouches, Blair said a quiet "thank you" to the man. He nodded as he rose and left the hut. 

Apurimac's wife took over. Another cloth and another bowl of water were used to wash dirt from Blair's skin. It was a quick job, but only served to show the new bruises more clearly. She asked Blair if he had eaten. Tutting at his negative reply, she bustled out of the hut, but soon returned with a plate and a bowl of water which she placed at Blair's feet. Before she left the hut she stroked Blair's hair and tilted his head towards her with a finger under his chin. 

"You are strong," she said to him and then left with a glare in Jim's direction. 

Jim wondered why he got the feeling that everyone in the damn village knew exactly what he was thinking and feeling. 

"Why are you doing this?" 

The quiet words broke into his reverie. 

"You're hurt. You needed to be treated," Jim replied, surprised at the question. 

"What for?" 

Jim was still sitting behind Blair, but slightly to one side. "I don't understand," he replied, genuinely confused. 

"What's the point of all the care and the attention when I have to go back to Ullasku, back to the Yacaya, back to that?" Blair waved his hand in a vague indeterminate manner that expressed so much to Jim. 

The fear and despair in the young man's voice tore at Jim's heart. Jim ordered his thoughts. He wanted to promise the young man the moon; to tell him that he would be safe, protected, well cared for from this moment on, but part of him held back. He knew that, even though he didn't want to, he had taken heed of Incacha's words, accepted that his guide still had to suffer before he could be truly free. Jim became angry at himself and he stood, swearing at no one in particular. 

"Fuck!" 

Consciously calming himself, he moved in front of Blair and knelt before him. Jim wanted to touch, to soothe, to hold, but he had to distance himself, get this right. Blair looked up at him and Jim found himself staring into beautiful blue eyes. He could see the pain and hopelessness in them, but he could see something else, something a little further in. He reached forward with his sight, staring deep into the depths and found himself lost. Everything was blue, all different shades; it was beautiful, but disturbing. The walls of the hut melted and they sat face to face in some strange jungle. Jim looked around, studying everything intently. Returning his gaze to Blair he realized that he hadn't moved. This is my vision, he thought. 

Jim felt the presence before he could see anything. He heard the footfalls and smelled the animal that approached. When the wolf stepped out of the jungle Jim was not surprised. He was a little concerned when the animal sat down next to Blair, but when the wolf licked Blair's hand, Jim relaxed. 

"Where are we?" Jim felt slightly stupid about asking a question of a wolf, but some part of him felt right doing it. 

"In the spirit realm," came the answer from behind Jim. 

He turned, startled. He had not sensed this second's creature approach at all. It was a black panther. The large cat had a sheen to its coat that seemed to suck in all the blueness around it and reflect it back. Huge paws moved forward until the panther was as close to Jim as the wolf was to Blair. The wolf ignored the panther, continuing to scratch its ears or nudge Blair's hand with its head. 

"Who are you?" Jim asked, worried by the creature's ability to sneak up on him. 

"Who do you think I am?" 

Jim sighed. It was going to be one of those annoying mystical experiences. When Jim had first become aware of his senses, Incacha had accompanied him through several attempts at vision quests and spirit walks. Jim knew he had not been an apt pupil, but it had never bothered him that much. He could quite happily live without the mysticism that Incacha believed in so much. 

"Why don't you just tell me who you are and we can save ourselves a lot of time and soul-searching?" Jim asked, fearing it wouldn't be that easy. 

"What do you want to ask me?" The cat asked in reply. 

Jim started to get pissed off. He stared at the cat, he could do inscrutable too. The silence lengthened. The wolf settled down, it's muzzle against Blair's leg, and closed its eyes. You and me both wolf, Jim thought, envying the creature's apparent nonchalance and, truth to be told, its proximity to his guide. 

"You want to know why you could not sense my approach," the panther stated. It wasn't a question. 

"Okay," Jim agreed. "Answer that." 

"I am your spirit guide. I am part of you. You can sense me as much as you can sense yourself." 

Jim thought about that. Incacha had explained to him the concept and told him that when he was deemed ready he would be shown his spirit guide. Looking from the panther to the wolf, Jim made the obvious leap. 

"The wolf is Blair's spirit guide?" 

The panther nodded and Jim could have sworn that it smiled at the wolf. 

"You must let your guide walk his path, sentinel." 

Jim's annoyance had abated a little, but at the change of subject he started to get angry again. 

"Why? Just so he can fulfill some sort of destiny you've mapped out for him? You are so full of shit." Jim was angrier than he realized. 

"He fulfils his own destiny. He fulfils your destiny, Enqueri. He must do this." 

"No he mustn't." Jim turned to face the panther. "I won't let him be raped again by Ullasku. I won't send him back to be beaten and assaulted, not for you, not for anyone. It's not right." 

"Then he will not be your guide." The panther spoke quickly. 

"Well then, maybe that's no bad thing, because if my having a guide is at the expense of another rape, of another beating, of Blair having to spend another minute in that animal's company, then it's not worth it." 

The panther put its head on one side as though pondering Jim's words. Suddenly it stood and walked away from Jim. 

"The spirits have spoken." 

"Fuck the spirits," Jim replied angrily. 

The panther bared its teeth in what might have been a smile and vanished. Jim turned back to Blair who had still not moved. The wolf was still there. 

"Shit!" Jim shouted to the sky and the wolf opened one eye to glare at him. "Who are you looking at?" Jim demanded, but the wolf was already asleep again. 

* * *

Blair watched the man in front of him. When he realized that Ellison wasn't moving and, more worryingly, that he hadn't blinked in quite a while, he reached out and tapped him on the knee. 

"Hey, Ellison, you in there?" 

There was no answer. Blair tentatively put a hand on Ellison's shoulder and shook the still body. 

"Ellison?" he queried, a little louder this time. 

Blair sat back, unsure what to do next. Part of him didn't care. If the buff, macho man wanted to flake out, Blair thought, let him. Slowly he twisted his body and lay on the pallet, ensuring that the painful shoulder was not the one he was lying on. He took time to study the enigma before him. 

Jim Ellison was an American soldier, a Ranger no less, and yet here he was dressed like a native, talking like a native, holding a place in the tribe that Blair hadn't quite figured out yet. When the expedition led by Eli Stoddard that had brought him to Peru had been briefed by the American Embassy before they left for the jungle, the attache had told them that there were units of American military forces operating in the jungle. That information had not been part of the formal induction, but the attache, Jack Kelso, had answered Blair's questions as they sat around a street cafe drinking coffee late one evening. He had struck up a bond with the older man almost straight away and in the few days they had before the expedition had left, the two men had spent a little time together. Blair reckoned that Jack was much more than an attache, but he never asked outright. He was sure Jack would have denied his assertion even if he had asked whether he was military intelligence. 

Blair took in Ellison's continued immobility. He wasn't sure how he felt about him, not yet. Part of Blair wanted to trust him, but the rest of him knew there was no easy way out of his predicament, so what was the point. Not even death was easy; he had tried that and now Ullasku kept him bound and close by all the time. One thing Blair did know was that, for the first time in three months, he had hope. That little spark had been seeded in him the day before by this man, and now being in his presence again he could feel that wish, that desire, that hope starting to grow. If anyone could get him out of this it had to be an Army Ranger. Watching the unblinking eyes and the still, solid jaw, Blair felt suddenly guilty. Here he was relying on this man to rescue him, but he wasn't doing anything to bring him out of the fugue state that he was in. Slowly, painfully Blair sat up again and placed his hand back on Jim's shoulder. He shook a little harder and spoke louder as he called the man's name. There was no response. Blair contemplated what to do next. He almost smiled to himself as he considered slapping Ellison's face. That would be good Sandburg, the guy can probably kill you with his little finger, he thought. Still he mused, what else could he do? The slap was a little tentative and had no effect. Blair became bolder. The next slap shook Ellison's head, but still failed to wake him. The third slap was a real swipe, so it was probably just as well that it never landed, Blair thought later. Inches from Ellison's cheek, his hand grabbed Blair's wrist and held tight. 

"I'm back," he said, clearing his throat. "You don't need to do it again." 

Blair looked up at the now expressive face. Both men were quiet. Ellison kept hold of Blair's wrist. 

"Thank you," the soldier said. 

Blair did not reply. Jim reluctantly relinquished his hold. Blair found he was disappointed at the lack of contact. 

"Incacha," Jim started, but Blair interrupted. 

"The guy with the red face?" 

"Yeah." Jim paused, doubt written across his face. 

Blair waited for him to continue. 

"He's the Chopec shaman. He's training me." 

Blair jumped in again. "You're training to be a shaman?" He couldn't believe that. 

"No," Jim replied with a smile. "Not that. I'm a sentinel, like Ullasku." 

Blair snorted. "Ullasku's not a sentinel, whatever he says and whatever the Yacaya believe. He's no sentinel and I know what I'm talking about." Blair paused, unsure of his next words. "And you're nothing like him." 

He saw the faint blush on Ellison's cheeks and, despite all that had happened to him, Blair was amused by that. 

Jim cleared his throat and asked a question. "How many of his senses are enhanced?" 

Blair answered immediately. "Taste, hearing and touch, but not by much." He shuddered. The two fell silent and Blair breathed deeply, calming himself. 

"How do you know so much about sentinels?" Jim asked. 

"I'm a post graduate anthropology student from Rainier University in Cascade, Washington State. My PhD Dissertation subject is sentinels." Blair halted suddenly. "Was sentinels," he muttered. 

Blair looked down at his hands. He picked at the skin around his nails, knowing it had become a nervous habit over the last three months, but unable to stop himself. 

"We were on an expedition with Dr. Eli Stoddard. We were attacked. I don't think anyone else survived," he continued quietly. 

"Is that how you met Ullasku?" 

"He found me wondering in the jungle, half dead from fever and dehydration." And he should have left me there, Blair thought bitterly. "He thinks I'm his guide." 

"You are," Jim blurted out. 

"No I'm not," Blair denied. "I might be his slave, I might be his pet, but I am not his guide." 

"No, you're mine," Jim replied firmly. 

Blair started to laugh. There was no humor in it. He lay down, still laughing soullessly. As the horrible sound subsided, Blair let his arm fall over his eyes, hiding himself from the world and from the man sat next to him by the side of the bed. 

"Incacha says the spirits have told him that you will be my guide." 

Blair said nothing. He didn't know what to say. Everything felt slightly surreal right at that moment. Once in the past he had dreamed of finding a sentinel, a man or woman who would complete his studies; 'The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg'. He had already written the first chapter, told the history of sentinels, much of it based on Burton's writings of course, but there were snippets he had dug out of dusty tomes after hours of eye-numbing reading. He had explored and explained the instances of people with one or two enhanced senses, like those that worked for tea blenders or perfume developers, and he had postulated the likelihood of fully fledged sentinels existing in the industrialized world. When Dr. Stoddard had asked him to go with him on his expedition, Blair had jumped at the chance. He had honestly believed that here in the wilds of the jungle he would find his holy grail. 

What he had found was a nightmare of abuse, violence and torture. Blair knew he had had an unconventional upbringing by American standards and he truly believed that life with Naomi had toughened him up and allowed him to survive a great deal, including Rainier at age sixteen, but he would never have believed that Naomi Sandburg's little boy would have been able to survive the last three months. Survive he had, and he had finally found a sentinel. Not Ullasku, not the man who owned him, who made his life a living hell, but Jim Ellison, the man who now came to save him, or so he said. The irony was not lost on Blair and his world spun; he wanted to believe Ellison, he wanted to get away from Ullasku, but it hurt too much to trust him. Blair couldn't let that seed of hope grow, not yet. 

"I've been a guide and believe me it's not all it's cracked up to be," Blair said sarcastically. He shifted uncomfortably. Lying on his back for any length of time was a painful reminder of last night's abuse. He heard Ellison's indrawn breath. 

"Are you okay?" the soldier asked. 

What a stupid fucking question, Blair thought. 

"No," he answered. "In a few short hours the Yacaya are going to leave here on the trek back to their own lands and Ullasku is going to take me with him. There is nothing you can do to stop him. This treaty is too important to the Chopec to risk it for the life of a 'Yankee'. Don't fool yourself, Ellison; you're no knight in shining armor coming to rescue me on a white charger." 

The speech took more out of Blair than he realized and he stopped to breathe deeply. 

"I didn't think you were paying that much attention to the speeches, chief," Ellison said. 

Blair could hear the levity in Ellison's voice and chose to respond in kind. "I was in touch with my feminine side. I was multi-tasking." 

He thought he heard Jim chuckle at that, but he didn't care. All he wanted to do was roll over and sleep and never wake up, ever, again. Blair turned to his side, away from the man in the hut. He felt a hand on his shoulder, but shrugged it off. 

"Go away, Ellison, leave me alone. I'm not going to be your guide; not now, not ever." 

* * *

Jim removed his hand and sat back. He didn't need sentinel senses to see the man's pain. It rolled off him in waves. He could understand it, he knew all about hopelessness; been there, done that and bought the t-shirt. He wanted Blair to know that he understood, he wanted Blair to know about him, that he was a man who could be trusted. So he started to talk. He told Blair about the helicopter crash, about the pain of his own physical injuries, about the pain of losing his men and the pain of surviving. Jim could tell that, despite himself, Blair was listening. He went on, telling Blair about his own weeks of hopelessness and how Incacha had saved him and trained him and how he was fighting with the Chopec warriors until his command was relieved and he could go home. 

As Jim drank water from a gourd to soothe the dryness in his throat, he watched Blair roll towards him. The young man had not moved since Jim had started talking. 

"You really think they will come for you?" Blair asked quietly. 

Jim nodded, his throat sore. He hadn't spoken so much at one time since before the helicopter crash. "They'll come." He was certain. 

"And then you get to go home," Blair stated. 

Jim heard the pain in Blair's voice and in that instant he did the worse thing he could possibly do; he lied to Blair. He knew he was lying, despite all his anger and his refusal to accept what both Incacha and the spirit panther had told him. He did it though; he told Blair he was safe, told him that Ullasku would never hurt him again, that he would go home. Blair said nothing in reply; he lay there staring at Jim, disbelief written all over his face. 

"You don't believe me?" Jim asked him. 

Blair sat up slowly, ignoring the hand that Jim offered in assistance. "Why should I?" he questioned, when he was finally sitting up. 

"I'm telling the truth." Jim was surprised at Blair's reluctance to believe him. 

"You might think you are, but it's not your decision to make, Ellison. I'm not that stupid." Blair glared at him and Jim was startled to see the wolf looking at him though Blair's eyes. 

Chagrined, Jim looked down momentarily. When he looked back up the wolf had gone. Jim shifted closer to the man in front of him. 

"Blair, I'm not going to let that monster take you away. The Chopec will just have to put up with it. You're safe now." 

He tried to infuse his words with a certainty he didn't feel. Jim was convincing himself as well as Blair. He saw a slight shift in the young man's bearing; his shoulders straightened infinitesimally. Blair was starting to believe him. Jim smiled and put a hand to Blair's arm. 

"It's going to be okay." 

All Incacha's words of warning echoed in Jim's head, but he resolutely ignored them, pushed them to the back of his mind where he could disregard the whispered warnings. 

"Hungry?" he asked, smiling as he offered his guide the plate of food. 

* * *

Oh my God, oh my God! He means it. Blair's thoughts raced and, before he could stop it, the seed had grown; it sprouted leaves and unfurled its stem, reaching towards the sky. He had held on to his despair for so long and fought back the burgeoning hope, that he felt dizzy with the thought that this man was offering him salvation. Even as Ellison had tried to reassure him that he was telling the truth, Blair had hung on to the blackness that had haunted him for so long now. It was easier not to believe in rescue, when he wanted to believe it more than anything else. This was a man he could trust. The desire for release, the lust for life, the hope, the need, the longing to go home was too much for Blair and he gave in. He believed Ellison. He could go home, he could escape. 

"I could eat," he replied, smiling. 

Blair took slices of fruit from the bowl and ate. He watched Jim watch him eat. 

"Did Incacha really say I was going to be your guide?" he asked cautiously. 

Jim cleared his throat and nodded. "Your spirit guide is a wolf." 

"It is?" Blair smiled. 

He'd always liked wolves. Once, Naomi had taken him to the San Diego zoo. He had spent the whole day watching the rangy-legged creatures trot up and down. Naomi had smiled in understanding and indulged him. She had even bought him a stuffed wolf to take home that evening. He wondered what had happened to 'Wolfie'. Lost in one of the many moves they had made since then, no doubt. Blair liked the idea that he had found another wolf to look after, another wolf to watch over him. 

"You don't seem surprised at this whole sentinel spirit guide thing." Jim said as he leaned forward and helped himself to some fruit. 

"I told you, I'm a post graduate anthropology student, ABD," Blair replied. 

"ABD?" Jim queried. 

"All but doctorate. I've been looking for an honest to goodness sentinel. I've found hundreds of examples of people with one or two enhanced senses, some even with three, but no one with all five; no true sentinel." 

"Until now," Jim said quietly. 

"Until now," Blair repeated. 

Blair felt giddy with relief. Somewhere deep inside of him laughter was bubbling up, building into something unstoppable. It made him reckless, made him forget. 

"Maybe when we get back I could study you, nothing intrusive, just some questions, maybe a few tests. If I include some data in my dissertation it would make all the difference. I don't know where you come from, but maybe I could visit, just for a while." 

Blair stopped himself talking; he knew he was chattering away like a fool. 

"Not going to happen, Chief." Jim grinned at Blair. "You see when I go home there will be no little visits." 

"Okay." Blair was disappointed. "I understand. I guess with your military commitments you'll be moving around all over the place anyway." 

Blair leaned back against the wall of the hut and berated himself silently. A few minutes ago he was relieved to be rescued from Ullasku, now he was unhappy because he couldn't put this man under a microscope. Priorities, Blair, he told himself. Get your priorities straight. 

"No problem, man," he said, sounding happier. 

"You don't get it, Chief. Cascade, where you go to the University, that's my home town. My dad and my brother still live there. When I get back to the US I'm going home, resigning my commission. I've had enough. I want time to get used to these senses in my own city, get used to my guide, if he's interested." 

Blair could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Oh man that is so cool," he chuckled. "Naomi won't believe this." 

"Naomi?" Jim queried. "Your girlfriend?" 

Blair laughed quietly, shaking his head. "My mom," he explained. 

"You call your mom Naomi?" 

Blair felt himself grinning inanely. That bubbling was still going on and it made him light-headed, made him want to talk, to make this man understand what he was giving back to him. 

"She's a very special lady." 

That broke the dam. For so long he had been afraid to think of Naomi and all she represented. It hadn't stopped him dreaming of her and home, but when he could control his thoughts, during the long black hours, he cleared his mind of everything. He hid behind the tall gray walls that protected him from the pain. He didn't need those walls anymore; there would be no more pain. Blair pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged himself and then told Jim about his mom and about his childhood. He talked and talked and answered Jim's questions and then he talked some more. At one point Blair even found himself genuinely smiling as he regaled Jim with another tale from his childhood. 

"And were you okay?" Jim asked. 

"No," Blair chuckled. "I broke my arm and haven't climbed a tree since." 

"You've had quite a childhood, Sandburg. Do you ever regret not knowing who your father was?" 

Blair thought about that. "When I was younger, sometimes when we moved somewhere new, I wanted to fit in, be just like the rest of the kids, but as I got older, no I didn't regret it. You never miss what you never had, I guess, and most of the time Naomi is just about the best mom ever." 

Blair noticed Jim cocking his head to one side. "You okay?" he asked. 

Jim didn't reply immediately. 

* * *

He had been sensing increased activity in the village for some while, but he had ignored it as he had listened to Blair. The younger man had come alive as he talked about his mom and the adventures they had shared. Jim found himself enjoying watching the animation in Blair's face, the way he threw his hands around. He wondered how anyone who had endured so much, could seem so full of life. It occurred to him that maybe Blair was exaggerating his stories just a little to make them funnier and more exciting. No one could have had that many adventures. With his attention on Blair, Jim had allowed the sounds of movement and chatter to slip past him. As the sounds grew louder part of him sought out the reason. Goodbyes were being said, people were packing up. The talks were over and the Yacaya were leaving. For a moment, Jim almost panicked. He listened carefully; he still had time to steal Blair away. 

"We have to go." 

Jim stood quickly and pulled Blair up with him, ignoring his gasp of pain. "Ullasku is coming." 

Blair's eyes widened and there was a stiffness about him that made all Jim's senses heighten. I need to protect him; I need to get him out of here. The words rang in Jim's head. He grabbed Blair's wrist and pulled him to the doorway. Jim checked behind the cover over the opening and quickly stepped outside the hut. With Blair pushed behind him, Jim maneuvered them both to the side of the hut and then back behind it. He had already decided on a route, but he knew they had to go quickly; there was no time to collect anything. It would make the escape more difficult, but better that than to lose his guide to Ullasku. That could never happen; Blair was his now. 

Jim pushed Blair in front of him, using a hand on his shoulder to guide the younger man along the path that led to the waterfall pool they had been at the previous night with. 

"We need to hurry, Blair," Jim urged. 

Blair nodded and sped up. Jim noted the younger man already breathing hard, and the pained movements caused by the enforced speed. He knew Blair would not be able to travel far or fast. He ran options though his mind, while his senses maintained their vigil on his guide and on the others in the village. He marveled at his own ability to use his senses in so many disparate ways all at once. He had never achieved anything like it while he was working with Incacha. The answer was in front of him, stumbling along. 

Jim knew that he could hide Blair from Ullasku. The man wasn't even a proper sentinel; it wouldn't be difficult. Keeping Blair from Incacha was another matter altogether. Blair missed his footing and Jim's hand moved to the young man's elbow to steady him. 

"You okay, Chief?" Jim asked. 

Again Blair's reply was a nod. 

"Keep going," Jim encouraged. 

He knew Incacha would be furious. He had consistently told Jim that this matter must run its own course, that his guide must walk his own path. There would be no way Incacha would collude with him to hide Blair, and the Chopec shaman would find them, however well they were hidden. Part of Jim's training had been to both track Incacha and evade him. Jim had got better and better at tracking and he was able to evade all the Chopec warriors including the Chopec sentinel, but somehow the quiet-voiced shaman was always able to find him. Jim had been constantly amazed, but had grown to accept it. He knew when Incacha found them, Blair would be taken from him. Over my dead body, thought Jim. 

Blair was really struggling now, and Jim started to panic. He knew he couldn't let them take his guide. Jim stopped abruptly. Blair was bent over, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. Standing in front of the pool was Incacha. He was alone. Fleetingly Jim considered his ability to disable the shaman and still get Blair away. He didn't dismiss the idea completely. 

"You cannot take him, Enqueri." Incacha spoke quietly. 

Jim moved in front of Blair, making sure he was safe from a frontal attack. There was no one coming up behind them yet. 

"He's mine, Incacha. Don't do this," Jim warned. 

He heard Incacha sigh. "You don't know what you are doing, Enqueri. If you want this guide you must give him up." 

"No." Jim didn't feel the need to say anything else. "Not going to happen." Apparently he did. 

"When you came to the Chopec lands, Enqueri, you were sent on a mission by your Great Chief. Did you believe in your mission?" 

Jim didn't answer. Incacha stared at Jim, waiting for him to speak. 

Jim broke first. "Yes." 

"Do you still believe in your mission?" 

"Yes," Jim ground out between gritted teeth. 

"Will you sacrifice your mission for this man?" 

That thought had occurred to Jim already in the few hours since he had met Blair. He had told himself that Blair would have no impact on his mission, that he could rescue the young American and still achieve his primary objective. Hell, he had reasoned that if Blair was really his guide, it would probably help him. Jim also knew that if he went against the Chopec on this, then his mission would fail. One man alone, even a sentinel, could not guard the Chopec Pass. Jim wavered. He couldn't answer the shaman. Incacha went on, pressing Jim for answers he did not have. 

"Will the Great Chief understand why you failed your mission? Will you dishonor the warriors who died bringing you to us? Will you cry for the women and children who will lose husbands, fathers and brothers when the destroyers come through the Pass? Will you beat your chest for your Chopec brothers as they are driven from their village and slaughtered? Would you dishonor the Chopec chief on the day he has pledged his word to the Yacaya? Is this man worth so much blood on your hands, so much pain, so many deaths?" 

Jim was breathing hard. He could smell Blair's fear. The younger man might not speak the language as fluently as Jim did, but he must have instinctively known that some crisis was coming, that his life was in the balance. 

"Yes!" Jim shouted at Incacha. "No," he added confused and torn. "It's not as simple as that. We can still stop the destroyers even without the Yacaya. We've held them off this long, we don't need this alliance." Jim's words burned with desperation. 

"Jim?" Blair questioned quietly. 

Jim didn't look at Blair, he couldn't. He kept his gaze firmly on Incacha. The shaman looked infinitely sad. Jim swallowed hard. 

"I can't let him go, 'Cacha. He's my guide. I need him." 

The painted man moved. He reached out a hand and walked towards Jim, speaking quietly. "You are like a son to me, Enqueri. I would no sooner cause you harm than I would one who had sprung from my own loins, but in this you must heed me. He will not be your guide if you do not let him go back to Ullasku. You will never become the sentinel of your own tribe; your future will lie along a different path." 

"I don't care about me. The powers that be can go fuck themselves for all I care. He's staying with me." 

Jim stood straight, confronting his mentor, daring him to deny his words. As Incacha's hand came to rest on Jim's shoulder, Jim felt Blair stiffen behind him and heard him whisper his name. 

"Jim." 

"No he is not," Incacha sighed. 

Jim knew the truth of the words, he had known Ullasku was coming; he had heard the warriors approaching from the village and he had done nothing to move Blair from the danger. 

"Jim!" Blair's voice was more urgent. 

Jim turned to Blair. He saw the realization dawn in the young man's eyes and felt the gap between them open up as Blair took a step away from the protection Jim had so recently promised. 

"Ellison!" Blair panted. "You promised me I'd be safe, that I wouldn't have to go back to him, that I could stay with you." 

Jim could hear the disbelief and pain as the words tore from Blair's throat. Jim opened his mouth. No words came out. He knew the enormity of his betrayal. Incacha kept his hand on Jim's shoulder. Jim wasn't sure whether it was to restrain him or support him. 

"Ellison!" Blair shouted. 

Blair moved away. Ullasku was in sight and Blair looked like a cornered animal. Why doesn't he run, thought Jim, but he knew the answer; because Blair still believed him, still trusted him. The two had only been in each other's company for a few hours, but in that time something had made the young man trust. It could be that I told him to, Jim thought, disgusted with himself. 

"Blair," Jim managed to stumble out. He spread his arms wide in supplication, almost begging for understanding. 

Blair shook his head and his feet took him backwards towards Ullasku. "No," he whispered. 

His head turned towards the village and he saw the Yacaya sentinel grinning at him. Ullasku held the collar and lead that Blair had worn when he had first been dragged into the village like a condemned dog. 

"No!" Blair shouted his denial at both Jim and Ullasku. "You bastard," he whispered at Jim and then bolted away from his tormentor. 

The damage to Blair's feet and his poor physical state let him down. He had only managed a few steps before Ullasku was upon him, knocking him to his knees. The collar was tied on Blair's neck and his hands tried to tear the offending article away. 

"You fucking bastard," Blair accused Jim. "You promised me, you told me I'd be safe ..." His voice broke. 

Jim stared at Blair's face. His eyes were wet, but no tears fell. His skin was white, and fury pinched his lips. A single drop of snot crawled down from his nose across his top lip and a hand stopped tearing at the collar for an instant to wipe it away. Jim could see the streak across the back of Blair's hand. He wanted nothing more than to stop Blair's pain, to keep him safe, but he did nothing. Jim couldn't understand why; inside he was screaming to rescue his guide. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry." 

Blair was dragged to his feet. The action brought him level with Jim. Ignoring Ullasku's gloating face, Jim spoke to Blair. He wanted to explain, but he couldn't because he didn't understand himself. 

"I'm sorry," was all he managed to get out. 

Blair spat in his face. "Fuck you, Ellison." His voice was cold, hard and totally devoid of hope. 

* * *

Blair's mind whirled. He couldn't believe what was happening. He had told himself not to believe the soldier, but he had failed, he had given in. He was weak. He blamed no one but himself, but his anger for Ellison was unbridled. He had promised Blair; he had told Blair he would be safe and Blair had believed, he had trusted. More fool me, thought Blair. His breath came in sobs. The pain was so great that he could hardly breathe. He had to drag air into his lungs. It was almost as though his body had taken a huge gulp when Ellison had betrayed him and was holding its breath. Blair forced more air into his lungs. 

"You fucking bastard. You promised me, you told me I'd be safe ..." he shouted as his voice gave out. 

He breathed deeply. His entire essence was being torn apart. The collar tightened around his throat and strangled his voice. The pain flared, pulling his skin taut. He wiped his nose across the back of his hand like a distraught child. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Ellison whispered. 

Blair wanted to scream at him, to hit him, hurt him, make him feel some of the pain he felt, but he didn't have enough breath for that. Ullasku pulled the leash and Blair was forced to his feet. He staggered with the effort and found himself face to face with Ellison. Blair's anger consumed him. It exploded from his soul and burned everything in its path, leaving him cold and empty, devoid of feeling. 

"I'm sorry," Ellison repeated. 

Blair stood straight and stared into the taller man's eyes. The sorrow, regret and pain he saw there meant nothing to him. He spat in Ellison's face. 

"Fuck you, Ellison," he delivered coldly. 

Ullasku dragged him away. Blair followed, he had no choice in that, but he didn't look back. As far as he was concerned Ellison no longer existed. All that was left for him was the pain that the man who held the other end of the leash chose to inflict on him and then death. That was inevitable. If there had been any hope left inside him he would have prayed for a quick death, but he didn't have enough hope even for that. 

Ullasku stopped. The Yacaya warriors were ready to leave. No one paid him any attention. Why should they, he thought, I don't exist anymore. All I need to do now is wait. Ullasku's fist hit him hard in the face and Blair was knocked to the ground. He could see Ullasku shouting at him, he could hear the words, but they meant nothing. Blair struggled to his feet, and using the same hand as before, he wiped the blood dripping from his nose on to the back of his hand. It left a bright red streak. The Yacaya moved off and Blair went with them, his hands on the leash in an attempt to lessen the strain on his neck. Again, he never looked back. 

The pain in his feet worsened. He knew Ullasku was forcing the pace, but he didn't care. There was no point. 

The wolf padded quietly around the outside of the high walls. Its tongue lolled out of the side of its mouth, its head hung down. The wolf was tired, he hurt, but he could not rest. Instead he kept walking, searching for a way inside. The wolf knew the danger was coming, closer and closer. He was alone and cold, but that was as it should be. Death was a solitary affair. 

Blair fell more times than he stood, or that was what it felt like. There were new cuts, grazes and bruises on his knees and hands to join the old wounds over the rest of his body. The bandages on his feet had long since been torn away by the pace Ullasku had set. The sun had dipped in the sky some time ago. Blair had expected that they would make camp at dusk, but it was completely dark and the stars were out before a halt was called. Ullasku dragged Blair off the path and tied his ankles together, so that he was effectively hobbled. Blair lay on his side wondering why the man had bothered; he could hardly walk as it was, and every step he took left a bloody smear on the earth. A blind man could follow his tracks, it wouldn't take a sentinel. 

As a fire was started and men claimed places where they would sleep for the night, Ullasku left Blair to talk with his chief. Blair rolled on to his back and realized the thick canopy overhead had a gap that let him see the stars. Even without his glasses, he could he could see them. They were blurry lights in a navy blue sky, but they were still stars. His breath slowed as his body recovered from the forced march. His mind was empty, devoid of thought; all he could manage was to stare into the far away heavens. An empty husk, he lay on the cooling ground. Conscious thought would be too painful. If, even for a second, he were to let himself think, then the hurt would be too much. The emptiness that filled him now would be overcome and filled with regret, with pain, with broken trust and with betrayal. It would be too much. So the emptiness remained and he built the tall gray walls thicker and higher. The walls kept the pain at bay and the wolf would be safe inside. 

A hard kick to his thigh broke him from his semi-conscious state. Blair turned his head to Ullasku. The man had a sneer on his face and was telling Blair to drink. Blair ignored him. An animal skin water bag was dropped by Blair's side and, when he ignored that too, Ullasku reached down and dragged Blair into a seated position by his hair. The pain made Blair gasp and slowly he reached out for the water bag, pulling out the stopper and taking small sips. Ullasku kept his hand entangled in Blair's hair. After only a couple of mouthfuls, Ullasku squatted down next to Blair, forcing his face upward. The Yacaya sentinel licked Blair's lips, removing the excess moisture left there. Deep inside, Blair started to tremble. He knew it was fear, both of what that touch threatened and of what had happened earlier that day. He fought hard to push the fear down, to stifle the trembling. As Ullasku's face dipped down towards his again, Blair pulled the water bag to his mouth and tried to hide his face in the act of drinking. Ullasku pushed Blair's head away in disgust and grabbed the water bag from his hands, letting the cool clear liquid spill on to the ground. Blair wanted to hate him, but hate meant feeling, and he couldn't allow himself that luxury. 

He lay on his side. His eyes were open, but he saw nothing. He listened. He couldn't stop himself doing that. Sounds from the camp dominated. In the background, he could hear running water. They had followed the river to reach the Chopec village, and they were obviously taking the same route back. Ullasku was talking close by. Blair shut out his voice. 

There were insect sounds close to his head. When he had first arrived in the jungle his phobia over spiders had been sorely tested. He had an irrational fear that, while he slept, they would crawl into his ears, up his nose or down his throat. He remembered one night dreaming that, Kafkaesque, he had woken up to find he had changed into a huge spider and was flat on his back his eight hairy legs flailing around uselessly. He had woken from that dream sweating hard, his hand stuffed in his mouth to stop his screams. Now he lay, face in the dirt and decaying vegetation, listening to the night time chitters of all sorts of creepy crawlies without flinching. His eyes tracked an ant that bravely moved a large piece of leaf. The green load looked like a large sail on the ant's back. As he concentrated on the ant's journey, Blair came to realize that there were myriad forms of life surviving underneath and around him and where he would normally tread. He wondered if the tiny industrious creatures ever worried about being squashed from a great height, or even if they were aware of the humans who decided their fate by the merest whim of where a foot was placed. Was there bliss in that ignorance? Was that better than his own wretched existence? He thought it probably was. 

"You're fucking pathetic, Sandburg," he told himself quietly. 

Blair tried to curl up tighter. The night was getting colder and Ullasku had left him far enough away from the fire for him to appreciate that. His body was tired enough that he knew he would sleep. He didn't worry about nightmares anymore; his waking hours were hell enough for that. As he drifted to sleep, the pain of earlier leeched back in to fill the void that he had created. Echoes of his shouts at Ellison reverberated in his head and mixed with the faint whispers of Ellison's apologies. Reminders of the pain of breathing caused him to pant, reliving those horrible seconds. There had been no room for tears earlier, but now inside his soul they threatened to drown him. 

"No, no, no," Blair repeated as a ward against the deluge. 

It was too difficult. He felt as though he were losing control. A hand on his leg brought him rudely from his horror and for a second he was grateful for the rescue, until he realized it was Ullasku who was untying his ankles and pushing his legs apart. 

Blair screamed his defiance and rolled over on to his front, attempting to crawl away. Ullasku pushed Blair's face in to the earth and vegetation and positioned himself ready to rape him again. Blair continued his frantic struggle, knowing it was useless. The hand on his head released him. The respite was momentary. The same hand grabbed the leash and pulled it tight, choking him. He fought with what little energy he had left. Blair's strength far outweighed what should have been possible for a man who had been through what he had suffered. 

There were fingers spreading his cheeks and, notwithstanding the leash, he tried to pull forward, to move away from the coming intrusion. His hands grasped at soil as he tried to drag himself forward. One cold finger slipped inside him and he redoubled his efforts, oblivious of the spots in front of his eyes signaling that the leash was slowly strangling him. One finger became two and the lack of oxygen finally registered in his horror. His fingers scrabbled uselessly at the leash. As the effort to breathe became almost impossible, his hands fell to the ground. Two fingers became three and silently he thought, finally. He was dying. It was happening at last. He had waited for so long for this. He welcomed the gathering darkness like an old friend. 

The leash was released and he fell face first into the dirt. Even though he wanted death, his body drew in a deep shuddering gasp of air, and a second and a third. The spots floated away, the darkness receded and he became aware that Ullasku had finally shoved his cock in his ass and was now forcing his face further into the ground. 

Blair screamed, "No!" He was never sure whether he screamed at the rape, or the lost chance at death. 

Blair shuddered at the pain of Ullasku pounding into him from behind. The sentinel was angry; he held Blair's hips in a punishing, burning grip, pulling all the way out before ramming back in. The pain was excruciating. Blair heard himself sobbing. 

"No, please stop," he begged, even though he knew it would make no difference. Ullasku's hand in his hair pulled his body upright, allowing the man behind to push into his body further. 

"No, don't," Blair cried out, but the pain went on, his pleas ignored. 

His panic grew; he couldn't find the place inside himself where he hid from these attacks. He had built the gray walls high and thick. 

The wolf now ran around the walls whining in his desperation to escape to safety. 

Blair's arms flailed and he pulled his hair from Ullasku's grasp, not caring that he left handfuls behind. Ullasku lost control momentarily, but he grabbed Blair and bit deep into his shoulder, breaking Blair's bruised skin, tearing into the muscle and leaving blood to run down Blair's chest. Blair screamed and threw his elbows back, trying to connect with the chest behind him. A blow to the back of his head forced him forward and his hands went out to save his fall. Ullasku came deep inside him and Blair felt he was being scalded from the inside out. He felt Ullasku relax and, with an inhuman effort, he pushed himself from his hands and knees onto his feet, sobbing as the rapist's cock slipped out of his body. 

Despite all the pain, because of all the pain, he ran. He forced himself. He knew Ullasku was following him. The sounds of the river grew closer. Blair pushed on, but couldn't avoid a fallen tree limb which conspired to topple him forward. He could hear Ullasku close behind. Blair crawled; standing up would have taken too long. His hands grew wet; he had reached the boundary of the river. The ground was muddy and slowed him. Stagnant pools of water soaked him and then in an instant, Ullasku was on him. 

The wolf found an opening, narrow and tight, but big enough for him to force his way inside. Halfway through he thought he had got stuck. His claws scraped at dirt and finally he was through. 

Blair fell, his face splashing into rank water. He choked as the green slimy liquid was pushed into his nose and throat. He brought his head up and tried to move forward. A knee landed on his back and Ullasku's hands were in his hair again. This time they forced his head down. Blair struggled to hold his head up, but he had no strength left; his face was pushed inexorable down to the water. He choked again and the scummy liquid raced into him. The blackness came back; Ullasku intended to finish it there and then. Blair wanted to let go, he wanted to welcome death, but at the end he fought to live until he could fight no more, until he was dead. 

Behind the tall thick gray walls the wolf closed his eyes and slowly stopped breathing. The silence was deafening. 

* * *

Jim stood and watched Blair being dragged away and did nothing. He wanted to. He wanted to run after Blair, take him from the monster that was abusing him, tear off the collar and make him safe, protect him from all the harms and hurts of this world. He didn't. Incacha's hand still rested on his shoulder. The weight of that hand felt like the weight of the world; a reluctant Atlas, forever doomed. 

"Oh God, what have I done?" Jim asked of himself as he sank to his knees. 

"What you had to do, Enqueri." Incacha spoke, quietly. 

Jim's anger became a solid force burning like acid in his gut. 

"No, I did what you wanted me to do. What your fucking spirits wanted and now he's gone with that raping bastard." Jim came to his feet in a surge, saliva from the force of his words hitting Incacha in the chest and face. Stepping back, Jim's anger gave him strength. "I should never have listened to you, you ..." 

He was lost for words to describe the Chopec shaman. Jim turned away and he heard Blair gasp in pain. The quietest of sounds, it exploded in his head like a thunderclap. He heard a growl erupt from his lips and he swung back towards Incacha, his hand coming to deliver a hard backhanded slap to the smaller man's face. Jim's strike had been sudden and unexpected. Any other man would have been floored by the ferocity of the blow, but Incacha caught Jim's arm at the wrist. Jim's hand was held in front of Incacha's face and the two men stood toe to toe, a silent battle waging between them. 

"We are wasting time," Incacha grunted, talking an effort. Jim's eyes flickered. The words confused him. "Do you want to save your guide or not, Enqueri?" Now Jim was thoroughly confused. Incacha let go of Jim's wrist. "Come, sentinel, we have much to do." 

The shaman let a brief smile show on his face, then he turned his back and left Jim standing in the clearing. It took about two seconds for Jim to follow him. 

* * *

Apurimac's wife was waiting for them in the hut. She held out a large hide bag, packed full. 

"There are fresh clothes, ointments and salves, cloths for cleaning and dressing his wounds, food and water." 

Jim was slow to take the bundle. The woman tutted at him and placed the bag in his hands. 

"Bring him back to us, Enqueri," she said, and quickly left the hut. 

Jim could have sworn he had seen a tear in her eye. Incacha was summoning warriors. As the men started to arrive outside the hut, Jim tried to make sense of the unexpected turn of events. He wanted to rehash his betrayal of his guide, to try and make himself understand why he had done nothing, but mostly he just wanted to do something. Jim was a man of action and, while he used words when he needed to, given the choice he would always pick deeds over words; he would never make a diplomat. Mentally he grasped hold of Incacha's words. They were going to get Blair back! Shoving all other thoughts to the back of his head, Jim ran from the hut, grabbed a few essentials for traveling from his own hut, including his MP5 and spare rounds, and jogged back to the band of warriors gathering around Incacha. Jim was ready to go. 

Unfortunately Incacha was not. He sat cross-legged on the ground surrounded by the warriors he had summoned. Two young men were ordered to follow the Yacaya. Incacha was insistent they stay well back and merely trail their new allies. Jim hunkered down next to the shaman. 

"That isn't necessary. I know where they're going, Incacha." 

The older man ignored Jim and issued more orders instructing other warriors to get food, water, and blankets. Jim put a hand on Incacha's shoulder and squeezed to gather the seated man's attention. 

"I've got everything we need. Now, let's get going." 

There was urgency in Jim's voice. Incacha stood and warned the gathered men that they would be leaving at dusk. Jim stood with him. 

"We leave now!" Jim insisted. 

Incacha finally looked at Jim. He manhandled the sentinel back into the hut and pulled the cover across the entrance, throwing the interior into gloom. Jim didn't even notice. 

"What the hell is going on 'Cacha? One minute you're letting that bastard haul away my guide, then you turn around and say we are getting Blair back, but then you want to wait?" As Incacha prepared to speak, Jim went on. "If you tell me this is something to do with the spirits or the powers that be, then ..." Jim's voice trailed off. 

The frustration was welling up inside him. The hunger to be following his guide had robbed him of words. 

Incacha sighed and looked up at Jim. "His path is set, Enqueri, as is yours." 

Jim lost control and lashed out with a fist that connected solidly with Incacha's jaw and put the older man on the floor. Jim snarled, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps from the release of his pent up anger. 

"Fuck you!" he snapped, and stepped out of the hut. 

He stopped immediately. The Chopec warriors stood in a loose circle ready to travel. That was pretty much the same as it had been moments before when Jim had gone into the hut with Incacha. What stopped Jim was the change in the day. The sun was sinking fast on the horizon. Hours had apparently passed even though Jim had only spent minutes in the hut. He turned to look back at the hut and Incacha stepped out, a dark bruise showing on the side of his face. Jim had only just hit the shaman seconds ago. There was no way his skin should be bruised like that so quickly. It would take hours for that much damage to show. 

"What did you do?" Jim shouted. 

He started to take small stuttering steps away from the hut and across the circle. The more steps he took the steadier he became. The warriors blocked Jim's exit. He looked at the shaman one last time. 

"My God, what have you done?" Jim whispered. 

Pushing warriors aside, he started to run. 

* * *

He knew without thinking where he was going. He pushed the pace as fast as he could and eventually found himself stopping, hands on his thighs, pulling in deep breaths, trying to replace the oxygen in his lungs. As he recovered he angrily realized that somehow, and he had no idea how, Incacha had induced some sort of zone out. He had lost precious hours and his fury at his mentor was palpable. He felt like lashing out again, hitting something, hurting someone. He had to stop himself from punching the trunk of the nearest tree. The pent up frustration was released, instead, in an anguished howl that scared birds from evening roosts and reverberated into the darkening sky. Standing upright, Jim closed his eyes, almost in prayer. 

"Hold on, Blair. I'm coming." 

He started to run again. This time his pace was slower. He settled into a stride that he'd be able to maintain. Jim didn't want to push himself to exhaustion before he reached his guide. 

About a half a mile before he reached them, Jim sensed that the two Chopec warriors Incacha had sent on ahead were in front of him on the trail. He reached them quickly. At his sudden appearance they overcame their surprise and reported on where the Yacaya were camped. Jim nodded. He had already confirmed that himself. The younger warrior was eager to let Jim know that he had seen his guide. But when Jim asked if he was okay, the young man was strangely reluctant to reply. Jim could tell from his face that he didn't want to be the bearer of bad tidings. Jim felt like shaking the words out the young man. Instead he controlled himself and pleaded with the warrior. 

"Tell me please. I need to know." 

Stumbling over the words, the story came out. His guide had fallen often. The Yacaya did not let him rest. His hands and knees were cut and his feet left bloody marks on the ground. Jim knew about the blood. He had followed it all the way from the Chopec village. Jim gritted his teeth as he moved in front of the two men. 

"Stay behind me," he ordered and started slowly to approach the Yacaya camp. 

They had not gone more than a few paces when Jim stopped. In front of him on the trail, stood a wolf. Turning to see the reaction of the Chopec warriors, he saw nothing in their eyes to suggest any surprise at all at seeing the creature in the middle of the jungle. Jim would have been surprised if the Chopec had actually seen a wolf before, so they should have reacted somehow to the creature's sudden appearance. Jim knew that they couldn't see it. Why are you here wolf? he asked silently. As if in response the wolf set off, padding silently away from the Yacaya camp. Jim growled his annoyance, and for a moment, allowed his anger to get the better of him. He ignored the wolf and continued on his path. The wolf waited on his divergent trail. Jim could see it in his peripheral vision, the animal's tail swishing back and forth impatiently. For a second the light of the moon reflected off the wolf's eyes and Jim caught a flash of blue. He knew that color, those eyes. 

Jim stopped, raising his hand to warn the men behind him. Every reasoning part of him wanted to ignore the wolf. After all the pain Incacha's spiritual masters had caused both Jim and his guide, the last thing he wanted to do was follow a spirit animal. But deeper down, far below the reasoned, logical, military man that had been stranded in the South American jungle for so long, the primal sentinel warred for power. He wanted to follow the wolf. That part of Jim trusted the ethereal creature. Jim felt as though he was being torn in two, and in that sundering Enqueri sprang forward and took Jim with him. 

The sentinel followed the wolf. He could hear the warriors following, almost feel their puzzlement at his erratic behavior. He didn't care; the sentinel was after his guide. 

Enqueri almost missed the body. He ran past and stopped, the wolf's yelp pulling him up short. He turned and stared, disbelief stark on his face. 

"No!" he whispered. 

Running forward, he dropped to his knees in the pools of water, beside the outstretched arms. Enqueri screamed his defiance, like an animal in pain. He grabbed his guide and turned him over. The guide's eyes were closed, his mouth open. Green stagnant water ran from his face and hair, the skin underneath pale and cold. Enqueri wiped away the slime and then pulled the limp body close to his chest. 

"CPR!" the inner Jim was screaming, but no words came out and the sentinel hugged his lost guide, already mourning his death. 

The panther appeared in front of the sentinel and snarled loudly. Looking up, the sentinel saw the panther growl. He stood, dragging the body with him, ready to protect his guide's body at any cost to himself. Rearing up on its hind legs, the panther tried to pull the dead guide from the sentinel's arms. The panther's claws were sharp and long bloody gashes appeared on the sentinel's chest and the guide's body. The sentinel roared a reply of anger and pain, and allowed the guide's body to fall back to the earth. It was the opportunity the panther wanted. It leapt high, hitting the sentinel in the chest and disappeared into his body. 

Jim felt sick and gagged. The jungle spun once and he was vividly aware of his surroundings, the smells, the sounds and the colors of the jungle. He dragged Blair's body away from the stagnant water and dropping to his knees, quickly laid his guide flat on his back. He angled Blair's head back tipping the chin up. Checking the airway was clear, Jim pinched Blair's nose closed and blew into his mouth. Blair's chest rose once in response to Jim's breath, but did not rise again. Jim repeated the action, and getting the same response, measured the correct spot on Blair's chest with his hands and started compressions; fifteen compressions to two breaths. Again and again he repeated the routine. There was no sign of life from Blair. Becoming more and more desperate, his knees aching from the position they were in and his arms beginning to feel leaden, Jim started talking to the man beneath his hands. His exhortations had no effect. One of the Chopec warriors touched Jim on the arm. 

"He is dead, Enqueri." 

"No!" Jim shouted defiantly. "He's not dead, he can't be dead. He's my guide." 

Jim continued his efforts. Eventually the two warriors grabbed Jim's arms and pulled him away. Jim struggled in their grip shouting at his guide to breathe. As if he were a balloon suddenly deflated by a sharp pin, Jim dropped to his knees. The hands of the Chopec warriors turned to support rather than restraint. Jim sobbed, almost unable to look at his guide lying dead in front of him. 

"I did this," he whispered. "This is my fault." 

"No!" Enqueri cried out and tore himself from the arms that held him. He rushed forward, placing one hand against the side of his guide's head. The other he placed over his guide's heart. He heard the panther growl, and looked up. The jungle changed. In front of him the panther stood, a midnight blue set against an electric blue scene. The panther turned away from the sentinel, and snarling, ran towards something Enqueri couldn't yet see. The sentinel stood and there, loping towards the panther, was the wolf. The two animals leapt into the air at the same time and met in a flash of bright white light. Blair choked and spewed water from his lungs. Jim turned his guide's body to the side, allowing the disgusting liquid to trickle from his guide's mouth as the retching continued. As it stopped Jim checked Blair's pulse and respirations. He was unconscious, his pulse shallow and a little fast, but steady. There was still water in his lungs; Blair had more vomiting to do to get rid of it all. More worryingly, his temperature was rising at an alarming rate. Pulling the strap of the bag from his shoulder, Jim pulled out the supplies. As he started to wash Blair's face, he ordered the two warriors to devise a makeshift litter. 

"What of the Yacaya, Enqueri?" the older of the two asked. 

Jim wanted to rip Ullasku's heart from his chest and tear it into pieces while the bastard watched, but he knew that his guide was in a bad way and getting worse fast. 

"He'll keep," he said flatly. 

It was as though a death sentence had been pronounced. 

**CHAPTER FIVE - A RECOVERY**

They carried the unconscious man as quickly as they could. Part way back they met the remainder of the Chopec hunting party. Fresh bodies took over carrying duties, allowing Jim to run alongside the litter, keeping track of his guide's status. He was slightly worse. Jim urged the warriors on, anxious to be back in the Chopec village where there were people who could treat Blair. 

The young man was bustled away from him as soon as they arrived. The medicine man would only allow Apurimac's wife inside the hut. Jim was forcibly restrained when he tried to enter. It was a testing time for Jim. He was aware of every little thing that his guide went through, could tell as his temperature fluctuated between not good and dangerously high. Each murmur and groan echoed in his ears until he had to try and block out the noises by putting his hands over them. Smell and taste were nauseating, infection had set in and the Chopec healer had to work hard to combat its spread. Jim knew that Apurimac's wife patiently cleaned up the young man each time his stomach rebelled at the liquids she had carefully coaxed his body to accept. 

When the medicine man decided he could do no more for Blair, saying that it was now up to the spirits, Jim found his way no longer barred. The hut stank of bodily fluids, and he had to keep a tight rein on his sense of smell. Blair lay on the pallet, covered with a finely colored blanket that was oddly out of place amongst the sickness and fever. Sweat made Blair's skin glisten, but he was pale and haggard, and the sheen over his body had a definitely unhealthy pallor to it. Jim washed Blair's body carefully with cool water, trying to bring the fever down. He could hear the congestion in his lungs and knew that when he woke from his fever-induced sleep he would still be a very sick young man. The hours passed and there was no change in Blair's condition. He got no worse, but he got no better either. Every couple of hours cool clean water appeared in the hut and the dull lifeless water that had been wiped from Blair's body was taken away. Food and drink was left for Jim and a simple cloudy liquid made with fruit juices and honey was left for Blair. Jim tried to get the unconscious man to accept the liquid; he knew how important it was for Blair to stay hydrated. He trickled precious drops between dry cracked lips, and was relieved that Blair had stopped the retching that emptied his stomach. 

Eventually exhaustion caught up with Jim and he found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. In the end he gave in and settled himself down on the floor next to the pallet. Making a final check before he would allow himself a few hours precious sleep, he was aware of the panther at his feet and the wolf at Blair's head. He slept peacefully. 

Something dragged him from his dreams and his eyes went straight to his guide. Jim checked his vitals; his temperature was down, his pulse was stronger and a little slower. The fever had broken and Blair was sleeping normally. Jim allowed his head to drop to his chest, and for a moment gave into his emotions, a single sigh escaping. Pulling himself back to practicalities he washed Blair again, pushing the long curly hair back from his face. The man's skin felt cool by comparison with before, and Jim pulled the blanket until it lay halfway up his chest. When he fed Blair more drops of liquid the young man actually responded, his tongue reaching to lick the drops from his lips. Jim persuaded him to take a few more precious drops and then put the bowl down when Blair stopped helping himself. Jim sat and watched. Blair's chest moved up and down easily, his skin not quite as pale as before, and there was no unnatural stillness. Blair twitched and groaned, turning on the pallet to lie on his side, knees drawn up. Finally he moved to his stomach, arms flung akimbo, his hair spread like a halo around his head. As Blair breathed out, small puffs of breath disturbed lose strands of hair in a way that Jim found incredibly attractive and erotic. 

Startled, Jim drew back. His body had sideswiped him, his fingers reaching to caress a bare shoulder. Jim interlaced his fingers to stop himself stretching for the sleeping man again, but he couldn't stop his mind savoring that word, 'erotic'. Looking again at the young man before him, Jim flicked through the brief memories their short time together had given him. He had to admit that the young man was handsome, indeed, he might go even so far as to say beautiful, but he didn't know where the hell the word 'erotic' had come from. It tumbled in his mind and he found he liked the sound of it, not such a scary word after all. Jim had never had a male partner before, but he knew plenty who had and the concept of the buddy fuck was well known in the army. He had been propositioned before, but had never accepted the offers, not because he was repulsed by the idea, but because he wasn't physically attracted to the man doing the offering. Now it was different; there was no offer, but if there had been he would have accepted in a flash and Jim was pleasantly surprised to find he was comfortable with that, maybe more than comfortable. Just how his guide would feel, though, was another matter all together. 

Jim could well imagine the horrors his guide had endured. He had served with soldiers who had been lost to the enemy. He remembered one colleague whose body was found after he had been tortured for information after being caught by Afghan rebels. It was one of Jim's first covert ops missions, and he considered himself a seasoned soldier. He had still lost the contents of his stomach as the extent of the torture was revealed. After the treatment Ullasku had meted out, the last thing Blair would want would be another sentinel who wanted to touch him physically. From what Jim knew of other people who had suffered traumatic abuse, many never formed anything other than platonic relationships for the rest of their lives. He could live with that if that was what his guide wanted, but if Jim got his way this man would share his life and his bed. Jim snorted a laugh; big bad macho Jim Ellison contemplating a homosexual relationship. Wonders would never cease. Resting his head on his knees while he considered it, he decided it was indeed a wonder, and he rationalized that it must be a sentinel/guide thing. He ignored the voice that asked why he had never had similar feelings for Incacha then, who had acted as his guide for over a year. 

Opening his eyes, Jim was shocked to see blue eyes looking back at him. Reality shot home and he cursed his shallowness in mentally patting himself on the back for coming to terms so easily with such a swingeing change in sexual orientation. Real life would never be so easy. Jim remained silent trying to gauge Blair's mood. There was nothing in the young man's eyes to give Jim any clue; they were dull and lifeless. There was no shining joy at being alive, no gratitude, no thanks. Blair turned his head and looked away from Jim. 

* * *

The next few days followed a similar pattern. Jim took care of Blair; changing bandages, applying salves and poultices, washing him, feeding him and watching him sleep. Blair slept a lot. When he wasn't asleep, he always looked away from Jim. Blair was trying to shut himself off from Jim and from the world. Jim understood. He had been there and done that. He wondered how many days it would be before Incacha sent in the children who had dragged Jim from his self-imposed fugue. Physically, Blair began to heal. He started feeding and washing himself and, after a few days, he could hobble to what passed for latrines in the village. But every movement seemed to spark a fit of coughing and, by the time he and Blair got back to the hut, the young man was pale and shaking. Blair persisted until he was awake for longer periods in the day than he was asleep. But his silence continued, and eventually, Jim started to worry. The young man needed time to come to terms with the nightmares he had lived, that he had survived; his mind needed to heal as much as his body. Even so, Jim was expecting Blair to start responding, reacting to small things at first, but there was nothing. Blair's eyes remained dull and lifeless and although his injuries were healing, the deep dark circles under his eyes remained. His face had a haunted look that began to terrify Jim. 

Eventually, his fears drove Jim to Incacha. The two men had hardly spoken since Blair had been brought back to the Chopec on a litter. Anger still clouded Jim's opinion of the shaman but, in his joy at recovering Blair, he was feeling benevolent towards his mentor. Jim found Incacha in his normal spot, cross-legged in front of his hut. Jim watched the man meditate, considerate not to disturb his contemplations. 

"Sit down, Enqueri," Incacha said, unmoving. 

Jim wasn't surprised at the shaman's awareness. Something in the man made him difficult for Jim to read with his senses. Jim joined Incacha on the ground. 

"You are worried about your guide?" Incacha asked. Jim nodded and before he could speak, Incacha continued. "He needs your patience and understanding." 

Jim wondered how Incacha had known he agreed with his question if he had not seen Jim nod. The shaman still had his eyes closed. 

"He is not a warrior, a soldier like you, Enqueri. That he must learn. Now he is in pain, he hurts, he hates. You must teach him to live again, to love." Incacha opened his eyes and stared at Jim. "Can you do that, Enqueri? Do you have it in your heart?" 

The shaman pressed his hand on Jim's chest and Jim felt a weight settle on him as though Incacha's words were solid, physical. Jim's heartbeat relaxed and slowed. He returned Incacha's stare. 

"I do," Jim replied honestly. 

It felt like an oath being taken. A few seconds of silence stretched between them. Incacha sat up suddenly, as though a decision had been made. 

"Come!" he ordered Jim, and stood. 

The two men walked to Blair's hut. Incacha entered first, bending low to get through the doorway. Blair looked up and immediately looked down. Jim saw the relaxed, calm face that had been there for a split second as they entered shut down the moment Blair's peace was invaded. Incacha sat in front of Blair and motioned Jim to sit next to him. No one spoke. Blair's eyes moved between the two men. There was no enquiry in his eyes, no interest in what the two of them wanted. He looked pissed that he had been interrupted. Any emotion is better than none, thought Jim. 

"Are you well, little one?" Incacha kept the words slow and simple, appreciative of the language difficulties. 

"My name is Blair Sandburg. I am not a little one," Blair replied haltingly. 

It was the first words that Jim had heard him speak since the night he had brought him back. Jim flushed, he felt warm all over. He moved to get a more comfortable position on the hard ground. Incacha looked at him as though he were a naughty child caught out by teacher at school. Jim immediately stopped moving. Incacha's look softened and he patted Jim's knee. 

"Are you well, Blair Sandburg?" he asked. 

Blair swallowed hard. Jim watched his Adam's apple move up and down, and felt himself swallow to mirror the movement. 

"Yes, thank you, but I want to go home." 

Jim paled. For some reason, it hadn't occurred to him that Blair would want to go home, to leave him. Jim felt sick; could he have regained his guide only to lose him again? Incacha started speaking. Jim could hardly listen; he was contemplating a future in the jungle without this young man at his side. Letting that thought percolate through his brain was blocking out all other thoughts. 

"Enqueri!" 

The sharply stated word brought him out of his horror. Jim looked up. Blair was staring at him, frustration all over his face. Jim looked at Incacha. "What?" he asked, bemused. 

"You must translate. The little one does not understand all my words." 

Jim nodded silently. What irony, he thought; it would be him who told Blair that he could go home, when all he wanted was to beg Blair to stay. Jim listened and translated word for word; forcing Incacha's words out. 

"You are not well enough to travel yet, Blair Sandburg. The journey to the city is a long and difficult one. It will be many days before you are ready to undertake such an arduous task." 

Jim fought hard to keep the smile from his face. He would have his guide for a few more days, he realized. 

"I want to go as soon as I'm fit enough," Blair replied to Jim, looking at Incacha. 

As Jim relayed Incacha's next words he knew that Blair would not be happy. He schooled his face to something approaching neutrality. Inside he was jumping up and down; a ticker tape parade was in full swing and the band was striking up. 

"Our battle with the Shining Path takes all our warriors, from the young to the old; even those who are sick continue to fight. We have no one who can show you the way." 

"But I need to go home," Blair interrupted Jim. 

The translation went the other way as Jim relayed Blair's words to Incacha. The shaman sighed patiently and leaned forward as he spoke to Blair. 

"Our alliance with the Yacaya will soon be known and the Shining Path will redouble their efforts. They will try to break through the Pass while the alliance is new, untested. Traveling through the jungle alone will be too dangerous for you, little one," Jim translated. 

Blair had started to rock very gently, his distress apparent. "I don't want to stay here," he retorted. 

Pulling his knees to his chest, Blair started picking at the scabs on his knees. Worrying away at the crusted skin, he brought fresh blood to the surface. Jim smelled the blood. His skin goose-bumped and he was immediately on alert. 

"I want to go home. Someone has to tell the University about Dr. Stoddard and the others." 

Blair's voice struggled to stay calm and as his breathing became ragged. Jim started to stand; all his senses told him his guide was in danger. 

"Sit, Enqueri, there is no danger to your guide." 

Jim saw Blair stiffen. He had obviously recognized the word Incacha had used. 

"As soon as I'm well enough I'm going. You can't keep me here against my will." Blair's voice rose as he became more agitated. 

Incacha spoke, and Blair looked at Jim for almost the first time since the two men had entered the hut, anxious to know what had been said. 

"I promise you, Blair Sandburg, that as soon as it is safe for you to travel you can leave us. If you try to leave before then you will not survive the journey. Not all the jungle's dangers are ones you are imagining. The ones you will not escape have two feet and carry weapons, and ..." Incacha paused at this point. Jim did the same, but for a different reason. He had to force himself to say the man's name. "Ullasku is still out there and would give much to have his guide back." 

Jim saw Blair blanch and shrink back. All the anger left his face and he hugged his knees to his chest in protection. He nodded awkwardly. 

"Okay I'll stay. Just until it's safe," Blair said quietly. 

Jim smiled. 

"You don't have to be so bloody happy about it!" 

Blair's words took the smile off Jim's face as quickly as it appeared. 

"I'm sorry," Jim stammered. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just ... you know ... was pleased ..." Jim stuttered to a halt. The words weren't coming out right. 

Blair turned away from him and looked at Incacha. "I'm tired," he stated flatly. 

Turning his body, Blair lay down facing away from the two men. Incacha stood, and patting Jim on the shoulder, left. Jim was alone in the hut with Blair. He listened to his guide's breathing and heart rate. As the young man slipped into sleep, Jim allowed himself to relax. He had his guide by his side, albeit reluctantly, and his guide was healing. The situation could be worse. 

* * *

Over the next few days Jim spent most of his time by Blair's side. Incacha had started making regular visits to the young man. He encouraged Blair to take short walks with him and, as his cough improved, the walks got longer. Jim was never allowed to accompany them. The first couple of days his anger at being excluded got the better of him and he had taken himself off in a huff, running through the jungle. After the second run he reluctantly had to admit that the time away from his guide had not been as difficult as he had imagined it would be and when he was reunited with Blair, the young man seemed more amenable, a little less angry at life and at Jim. He never knew whether it was his time running or Blair's time with Incacha that brought about the change, but Jim reveled in the small crumbs of friendship that Blair dropped from his table. 

On the seventh day, Jim spent time with the Chopec sentinel, updating himself on all that was happening outside the village. He learned that the Chopec planned a foray deep into the Pass to try and scout out what the guerillas were planning. When Jim was asked if he would if he would accompany the warriors on their mission, his first reaction was to say yes, but he found himself biting back his excitement at the hunt and replying by deferring to his guide. Jim thought the Chopec sentinel would disparage his lack of commitment, but the warrior merely nodded as though Jim had uttered some wise and meaningful statement with which he fully agreed. 

Back in Blair's hut, Jim waited for the young man to return from his walk. He wanted to tell Blair about the mission, to see what his reaction would be. He wanted to know if Blair was at all interested in his sentinel work. The young man practically ran back into the hut, ignorant of Jim's presence. He was smiling like a child who had found the cookie jar. 

"Blair." 

Jim's voice stilled the man immediately and wiped the smile from his face. Jim tried to hide his disappointment that his presence could still so badly affect his guide. He had thought they were making progress. Blair sat on the pallet and reached for the water placed by the tribeswomen at the foot of his bed every day. Jim waited for some sort of response. None was forthcoming. He swallowed his disappointment. 

"The Chopec are going out to scout the Shining Path. They want me to go with them." 

Jim stopped, still anxious to get a positive reaction from the young man. 

"So? It's what you came here for isn't it? Go do it, Ellison. Do your duty!" 

The last three words were spat out. Blair turned away from Jim, leaving the older man distraught. He knew what Blair meant and accepted the pain that the young man inflicted on him. It was no more than Jim inflicted on himself every day. 

"I didn't want to leave you alone," Jim tried to explain. 

Blair snorted. "I'm a big boy now, Ellison. I think I can take care of myself while you go off and play soldier." 

"I didn't mean you couldn't, Blair," Jim replied quietly. 

He didn't know how to deal with Blair's anger. He wanted to soothe his pain, take it away somehow, but he was afraid that he would only make things worse. 

"Whatever," Blair threw back at him and lay down. 

Jim sat, resting his back on the wall of the hut. He pulled round his pack, which was slung over one shoulder, and removed a pair of sandals. Another hour or so of work should see them finished. Jim manipulated the hide the way he had been taught by the Chopec women. He had woven thin strips together to make the straps that would secure the thicker, harder base of the sandals to the foot. He had dyed one strip of the hide red, bleached another and left the third natural. Jim hoped the wearer of the sandals would like the colors. All he had to do now was attach the straps to the base so that the sandals would stay securely on the feet when tied. The sandals were more intricate than the footwear normally used by the Chopec, more western in their style, which was as it should be; as they were meant for Blair. 

Jim completed the work in silence. When he was finished, he looked over at Blair. The young man wasn't quick enough to completely hide that he had surreptitiously been watching Jim. Unaccountably embarrassed, Jim wasn't sure what to do next. He was secretly pleased that Blair had been watching him, but knew that he shouldn't make anything of it. Instead he packed away the tools he had been using, rose, placed the sandals by Blair's bed and turned to leave the hut, avoiding Blair's look. 

"What are these for?" Blair asked. 

Jim stopped in the act of pulling up the cloth that covered the doorway. He didn't turn back to Blair, but answered him. "I thought it would help when you walk with Incacha, and when you leave. You shouldn't walk barefoot in the jungle." 

Jim left the hut. He stood outside, shaking. Incacha was there, watching him. Jim pleaded silently with his mentor for help, for understanding. Incacha walked past Jim, halting as he drew level with him. Placing his hand on Jim's shoulder, he spoke quietly. 

"You have done well, Enqueri." 

Jim smiled his thanks, unable to speak. He walked to his hut, dropped his pack outside and ran as though the hounds of hell were on his tail. He didn't stop until his body made him. Anyone watching would have wondered at the smile on his face. 

* * *

Incacha saw the young man's startled glance as he entered the hut. The little one was momentarily scared. He thought I was Enqueri, Incacha realized. Then Blair's face dropped in disappointment. Incacha smiled, knowing what that reaction meant. 

"A gift from your sentinel?" he asked. 

"From Ellison," Blair answered. 

Spending time together over the past few days had improved Blair's understanding of the Chopec language considerably. Incacha had seen how the young man soaked up knowledge; the wolf was a curious, but wise animal. Now that his mind was mending, his thirst for information, his eagerness to learn, was resurfacing. 

"Do you deny your sentinel?" 

"I'm no one's guide," Blair replied firmly. 

"It is your destiny, little one." 

Incacha deliberately used the endearment that so annoyed the young man to provoke a response. 

"No, it's not!" Blair denied. 

Incacha sighed, allowing a tone of exasperation to be heard. "Come with me, Blair Sandburg," he ordered. 

Incacha noted that the young man followed him reluctantly, but saw also that he tied on his new sandals before he left the hut. The shaman hid his smile from the young guide. 

The two men walked through the village until they came to a solitary hut. Two men sat outside. One was tall and thin and seemed to be doing all the talking. The other was short and stocky. Scars marred his upper body, but the strength of his muscles as he worked with a whetstone to sharpen several long knives lying in front of him, proved his warrior status. The warrior nodded every now and then, in answer to the one who spoke. The tall one stopped and turned at the approach of Incacha and Blair, while the scarred one kept on working. 

"Blair Sandburg, this is Muyuna." He pointed at the warrior. "And Yarapa." The tall man stood and extended his hand in greeting. Blair gripped the tall man's wrist and felt the strength of his grip. "Muyuna is the Chopec sentinel. Yarapa is his guide." 

Blair threw Incacha an annoyed look. He folded his arms across his chest. Incacha smiled at the young man's defiance, but he was confident of his plan. 

"Muyuna, Apurimac wants to talk to both you and Enqueri about the raid," Incacha announced. 

Muyuna stood, replacing all the knives he had been sharpening into various parts of his clothing. 

"Where is Enqueri?" Muyuna asked. 

"We must find him first," Incacha replied, waiting for Blair's reaction. 

He got the response he was expecting. 

"Ellison is missing?" Blair asked, and then shut his mouth quickly as he looked at Incacha, feigning nonchalance. 

Incacha ignored Blair. 

"He is running again. I will get him," Muyuna replied casually. "Call me if you need me," he said to Yarapa. The tall man nodded. 

"Little one, I need you to stay here with Yarapa. I will come back for you later," Incacha told the young man. 

Blair shrugged. "I can get back on my own," he said petulantly. 

"Very well," Incacha replied and left his charge with another guide. 

* * *

Blair watched Incacha walk away. Muyuna had already run off after Ellison. He was aware of the tall man at his shoulder. 

"Enqueri is safe," Yarapa told him. 

Blair ignored him, not wanting to talk to the other man about Ellison. The tall man laughed. Blair turned to him angrily, but Yarapa had resumed his seated position and was wrapping the whetstone in large dark green leaves. Blair stood, unsure what to do. He noted that for the first time since he had woken in the Chopec village, from the moment he realized he was no longer dead, that he was out of the company of either Ellison or Incacha. He felt naked, nervous. 

"Sit," Yarapa suggested, patting the ground next to him. 

Blair hesitated, but sat. The tall man handed him a plate with meat and flat bread on it. 

"Eat," he encouraged. "You need more muscles." 

As he spoke he cocked his arm at his side in the universal gesture for strength. Blair smiled. Yarapa was as thin as a stick. He looked as though a strong wind would break him in two. Even Blair looked better built than Yarapa. Blair ate, finding he was hungry. 

Slowly he and Yarapa started to talk. Language was an occasional problem, but with patience, persistence and hand signals, they managed to communicate. Blair found himself liking the tall man, who had a very earthy sense of humor that initially embarrassed Blair, especially as many of Yarapa's tales had to involve hand gestures because Blair didn't know the Chopec words for the various parts of the female genitalia, but later made him laugh so hard that his ribs hurt. In the midst of the laughter, Yarapa asked Blair a serious question. 

"Why do you not share a hut with your sentinel? Are things done differently in your world?" 

"He's not my sentinel. I'm not his guide," Blair replied, aware of the lack of conviction in his voice. 

Yarapa gave Blair an appraising look. "You hate Enqueri." It was not a question. The tall man nodded knowingly. "I hated Muyuna at first. He took me from my family, before I was a man, made me his guide, before I had tasted women. I was a child. I wanted to play, run and scream, to laugh with my friends, not stand by the side of this quiet, strange man." 

"Do you still hate him?" Blair needed to know. 

Yarapa laughed quietly. "I love him more than I love myself. I would give my life for him. He is the other half of my soul. We are incomplete when we are apart." 

Blair swallowed hard; the honesty and sincerity of the man was stunning. 

"Why do you hate Enqueri?" 

Blair felt himself blush. "He betrayed me." The truth of the words made him angry. Blair stood suddenly, his fury too much to contain. "He told me I would be safe, he promised me, and then he let that bastard take me, let him rape me and kill me." Blair was panting hard, his breath coming in short gasps. 

"Did he not bring you back to life?" Yarapa asked gently. 

Blair stopped. This confusion was eating him up. "Yes," he ground out between clenched teeth. 

Jim's betrayal had destroyed Blair. That small seed of hope had been ripped from his heart and torn to shreds. Blair had kept his sanity in the three months with Ullasku by denying himself any chance of rescue. Jim Ellison had forced him to hope and then ripped that from him in the space of a few short hours. The pain of that had hurt more than any of the rapes and beatings Ullasku had inflicted on him. Blair had been denied the sanctuary of his own self-built fortress; it was Jim Ellison who had caused that, and so Blair had died, drowned in the dark, dirty water. Blair was convinced he had gone, left his body behind and was taking the last great adventure. He had been called back, seen the panther and found himself running towards the creature. He was aware of the wolf running with him, in him and recognized his own animal spirit. He had rushed eagerly to meet the panther. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to join with him as one. He knew Ellison had saved his life, but somehow that did not balance the scales. 

"But I still hate him," Blair insisted. 

Yarapa shrugged his shoulders and continued to eat. Blair felt lost. 

"Shit," he whispered to himself. "I'm going back to my hut. Thanks for your time, but I'm not a guide, for Enqueri or for anyone else." 

Yarapa smiled and started to clear the remains of their meal. "So you will not be with Enqueri when we hunt the invaders?" Yarapa asked, looking up at Blair. 

"No," he replied. "You're a guide, you do it." 

Blair turned his back on the man and slowly started to make his way back to main part of the village. He was conflicted, but felt entitled to his anger. Ellison had betrayed him, had let him be raped and murdered. He wasn't going to forget that in a hurry. Every time Blair allowed himself to recall those dark moments he felt sick with the memory and his anger surged, blotting out everything. Lost in his thoughts, Blair's sore feet had taken him off the main path. By the time his emotions drew back enough to let him realize his mistake, he was lost. He had not been walking for long, so he knew he could not be too far away, but he still felt apprehensive. His fear annoyed him. He didn't want to be afraid; he was an experienced anthropology student used to surviving in strange places. He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. If he applied logic to his situation he could find his way again; he couldn't be that far from the path. Incacha had told him that the village had been established for many years. That level of settlement would have had profound effects on its surrounding area. Turning one hundred and eighty degrees, Blair looked back the way he had come. The new sandals left a clear imprint on the ground. What his deep breathing had not achieved, the sight of his own footprints did. Blair mentally patted himself on the back and slowly retraced his steps. The pain in his feet grew, but he kept his eyes on the ground, shoving the pain to the back of his mind. 

The foliage to his right moved signifying that Blair was not alone. He stepped away from the disturbance to put more space between himself and the threat. Images flashed through his mind: fight or flight? He knew the dangers of running from a wild animal and his feet would not allow him any real speed. Blair braced himself and, when the dense foliage moved again, he ran or rather, tried, to run. The pain in his feet pulled a grunt from him. 

"Don't run, Blair. It's me." 

Blair turned at the voice, the adrenalin rush of his attempt at flight coursing through him. His earlier anger surged up. 

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Ellison? Are you stalking me now?" 

Blair's fury built as he grew ashamed of his fear, a fear that had been totally unnecessary. He felt his face flush. 

"I was in the village. I heard your heart rate jump, smelled your fear. I had to find you, make sure you were okay." Jim spoke quietly, but in earnest. 

Blair rested his hands on his hips; he wanted to tear this man limb from limb. He laughed. "So now you want to rescue me? What is this? A change of heart? Well, well, wonders will never cease." Blair's head of steam was building up nicely. "I thought that abandoning people to their fate was more your style, or do you have to have a betrayal in there as well, otherwise it just doesn't have the same satisfaction for you?" Blair spat out the accusations like bullets from a gun. He didn't notice Ellison flinch as the shots landed. 

"I'm sorry ..." Jim stammered, overwhelmed by the sudden tirade. 

"You're sorry, Ellison!" Blair was derisory. "Well that makes everything alright then. After all it doesn't matter that I was handed over on a plate, as long as the big, brave soldier is sorry. No worries, man, we'll just forget that the bastard raped me again, just forget he killed me, because Ellison is sorry." Blair's voice had grown louder and he practically shouted the last few words. His arms were whirling, punching the air as he accused Jim. 

"I didn't mean ... I didn't want ..." Jim was lost for words in the face of the fury in front of him. 

"What?" Blair cut him off, not giving Jim any time to regroup. "You didn't mean to what? Betray me? Hand me over to Ullasku? Let him rape me? Let him kill me? Well, reality check here, Ellison. He did just that." Blair moved so he was inches away from Jim, face to face. "And you let him, you gave me to him. You might as well have raped and killed me yourself." 

Jim stepped back, breathing hard, his eyes wide at Blair's onslaught. 

"Not hitting home am I, Ellison? Rocking that little soldier world of yours?" Blair stepped forward, keeping the proximity to the object of his ire. 

"I didn't want to ..." 

Blair laughed again. "Excuse me for being an inconvenience. Next time I'll just stay dead." Blair spat out. 

"No!" Jim's single word stopped Blair, when all his stammered entreaties had failed. "You have to live. I need you, Blair." 

"And of course this all about what you want, Ellison, isn't it? You selfish bastard. Go away. Leave me alone. Go play soldier on your own." Blair felt exhausted. The adrenaline had gone, he hurt, he wanted to cry and he knew he was shaking from shock and tiredness. He didn't want to show any weakness to Ellison, but holding himself together emotionally was so hard. 

"I thought you were in danger, Blair." 

"Go away, Ellison. The only danger here is you. Leave me alone." Blair's shoulders slumped. He turned his back on Jim and took a step away, but stumbled slightly. Jim was by his side, a hand on Blair's elbow. "Get your hands off me, Ellison." Blair's voice was cold and hard. 

"Blair, let me help you," Jim pleaded. 

Blair had thought he was drained, but from somewhere he found the strength to once again verbally attack Jim. "I've had plenty of your 'help', Ellison. Excuse me if I don't want any more. Leave me alone." Blair punctuated the last three words for effect. 

Jim took his hand away. "I'm sorry, Blair." 

Blair didn't answer, but turned away needing to put distance between himself and Jim. "Don't come to my hut again. I don't want to see you. Just leave me alone." 

"You're my guide, I need you." 

Blair could hear the desperation in Jim's voice. 

"You still don't get it do you, Ellison? I don't care what you need. I don't care what you want. I'm not your guide. I'm not your anything. As soon as I can I'm going home and I'll never see you again, ever." 

"You can't!" Jim declared, appalled. 

"I can and I will," Blair retorted. 

"But I saved your life, I brought you back." Jim was desperate. 

"So what? Am I supposed to owe you for that? You fucking killed me, Ellison!" Blair screamed at Jim. He knew he was losing control; Blair could feel the tears threatening. He swallowed them back. 

"Please, Blair, don't do this. I saved you, you're my guide." Jim's words were distraught. 

"I don't care. Go away." Blair was fading rapidly. Even keeping up the conversation was tiring him. 

"I'll come to your hut later," Jim offered quietly. 

"What don't you understand, Ellison?" Blair was drained. It was all too much. "Leave me alone. I'm not some pathetic little victim here, grateful to you for every crumb of comfort you throw my way. I want my life back and I'm taking it, on my own. Stay away from me. I don't want your help. I don't want your comfort. I don't want you near me. I'm not your pet project. I don't want you. Period." Blair walked away, not bothering to look back. 

He hardly remembered the walk back to the hut. Blair only knew that he did get back and, falling on the pallet, he let the tears fall. He couldn't stop them. Blair sniffed and wiped his hand across his face. He forced himself to sit up. His fingers reached for the ties that held his sandals in place, but they didn't work and he couldn't undo the knots. Another pair of hands came into his bleary view and gently moved his hands aside. 

"Leave me alone, Ellison," Blair sobbed. 

"Let me do this, Blair?" Jim asked, but continued to undo the ties, not waiting for an answer. 

"No," Blair said weakly and ineffectually batted at Jim's hands. 

The sandals were removed and Blair let himself lie down, allowed sleep to pull him down. 

"Go away, Ellison," he mumbled. 

He fell into oblivion knowing that Ellison watched by his side as he had always done and would always do. 

* * *

Incacha startled Jim, tapping him on the shoulder. 

"Come with me, Enqueri," he ordered. 

"I can't leave him 'Cacha. He needs me." 

Jim had watched Blair sleep for hours. He knew that outside, day was passing. His own sight had compensated for the failing light inside the hut. He had bathed and cleaned Blair's feet. No skin had been broken by his earlier walk, but the leather bindings had rubbed in places, blistering the pale skin. Gently, Jim massaged ointment into the blisters and then used the hilt of his knife to knead the straps, softening them even more. He didn't want to acknowledge Blair's words, let alone think about them, so he had to keep himself busy. He washed Blair's body, wiping dried tears from his face. Blair didn't stir. When Jim had finished he covered Blair and simply watched him. 

Everything Blair had said was true. He knew that. He had killed Blair, he was responsible and he didn't deserve Blair as a friend, as a guide or as an anything. He could understand Blair's anger; hell if the situation were reversed he would have reacted the same way. 

"I'm sorry, Blair," he whispered to the sleeping man and prepared himself to lose his guide. He could do this, he lied to himself. I'll get him fit and then I'll take him to the nearest trading post. He can find a way back from there. Afterward, Jim would go back to his mission. Maybe that way he could make amends. Jim sat, on guard for his guide, drowning in his own guilt and fears. 

"He needs his sentinel, not this," Incacha insisted. "Go to your hut. I will watch your guide." 

The last thing Jim wanted was to leave Blair, but he did what he was told. He felt lost. He had hardly been in his own hut the last few days, and inside it was cold and lifeless. He lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling, wallowing in bitter thoughts. 

* * *

When Blair woke he felt better, resolved. A decision had been made and it gave him a strength he had not felt for a long time. Turning, he was not surprised to see someone sitting by his side. He was surprised when he realized that it wasn't Jim, but Incacha. 

"What do you want?" Blair asked a little ungraciously. 

"Did you not talk to Yarapa and Muyuna, little one?" Incacha asked. 

Blair sighed; he was getting fed up being referred to as 'little one'. "Yes," he answered shortly. 

"Did you listen to their words, Blair Sandburg?" 

A little disconcerted by the use of his name, Blair looked up at Incacha, shame-faced. "I heard them," he mumbled. 

"You did not listen here," Incacha stated, placing his hand on Blair's chest. 

"I am not Ellison's guide. I want to go home." 

Incacha was silent and Blair eventually met his gaze. The man had large brown eyes. Even in the afternoon light the pupils were dilated; it was gloomy in the hut and Blair was reminded of a nursery tale Naomi had told him of a dog with eyes as big as saucers. Blair shook himself to undo the image. Incacha still hadn't spoken and the silence was wearing at Blair. 

"I'm sorry, but I just can't do it," he tried to explain. 

"Enqueri is a sentinel. When he first came to us he was like you. He did not want to believe, but he could not deny his senses. He learned how to be a sentinel, but he cannot complete his journey without a guide, without his guide." 

"I'm not his guide," Blair interjected. 

Incacha ignored his interruption. "You cannot deny your destiny, little one. I have told you this. You may leave Enqueri, you may leave the Chopec and go back to your own land, but you will still be Enqueri's guide." Incacha ignored his interruption. 

"This is ridiculous," Blair muttered. 

"Do your feet hurt you, Blair Sandburg?" 

Blair was thrown by the change of direction of their conversation, but he recovered after a momentary hesitation. 

"They're a little sore. Why?" Blair was suspicious. 

"The warriors leave tomorrow to scout the Pass. We know the invaders are planning an attack. We must reach them first, surprise them. You will come with us." 

"Why do you want me to go? I'm not a warrior. I can't fight the rebels. I won't kill anyone." Blair was appalled at the thought of getting involved in a battle, but also strangely excited at the thought. 

"You need not fight and I will keep you safe, little one. Do not fear." 

"I'm not afraid!" Blair retorted, rising to the challenge. 

"Good. Then prepare, Blair Sandburg. We leave at dawn tomorrow." 

Incacha stood and left the hut. Blair stayed sitting on his bed. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had just been suckered. How had he agreed to go with the hunting party? He was the last person to be trooping around the jungle when there were men out there trying to kill each other. 

"Shit!" he breathed, contemplating the prospect. 

* * *

Jim had forced himself from his bed and stayed busy for the remainder of the day, making preparations for the mission. His first job had been to explain to Apurimac why he had rushed out in the middle of their discussions earlier that day. When the chief accepted his apology with only a quiet 'humph', Jim suspected that Incacha had already done some explaining on his behalf. 

Finishing the conversation with Muyuna and Apurimac, Jim left the meeting circle to check on the weapons situation. He walked through the village to where the warriors were gathered, testing bow strings, adding flights to arrows and sharpening spear heads and knives; last minute preparations that had been done before, but which were still carried out. Soldiers were soldiers the world over and Jim recognized the superstitious rituals for what they were. If this had been a Ranger mission, he would have been cleaning an already spotlessly clean rifle. In actuality, this was a Ranger mission he thought; only his 'Rangers' would never be recognized as such at home. A few of the men greeted him with nods and called out his name. He responded to all of them as he placed his own quiver, bow and arrows on the ground in front of him and started to check them over. Once done, he slowly took apart his rifle. Incacha had given him some sort of oil to use to clean the weapon and he used cloth recovered from the dead bodies of the guerillas to wipe the moving parts to keep them free from rust. The first time Muyuna had watched him, he had asked Jim why he did it. Jim had explained carefully the need to keep the weapon well-oiled and cleaned if it was to be used again and again. Muyuna had seemed to mull that over and then patted Jim on the arm and told him, 

"Our enemy helps to bring about his own death. This is good, Enqueri. I like the way you fight." 

Muyuna had walked away smiling. Jim contemplated trying to explain again, but decided not to. Muyuna may have over-simplified matters, but Jim could live with that and, in a way, what the Chopec sentinel had said had been right. There was a sense of actions coming full circle that Jim liked, too. 

Feeling the oil on his fingers Jim looked up as Incacha approached him. The shaman had a smile on his face that always worried Jim. It usually meant trouble for someone. Jim waited until the shaman reached him. 

"Blair Sandburg will be coming with us. He will need a knife. See to it, Enqueri." 

Jim's mind whirled and he didn't notice Incacha walk away. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about Blair joining this mission. The sentinel in him rejoiced. He would hunt with his guide at his side, a primal imperative fulfilled. The soldier in him planned. The jungle was no place for a civilian, and the middle of a dangerous mission even less so. The sides of Jim warred for resolution. Even though the sentinel needed to keep the guide safe, his senses sang with the thought of working with his guide; he knew it was right, as it should be. Sentinel and guide would be an unstoppable asset. But the thought of Blair hurt again, even put in danger again, was more than the man could bear. He would not do it again. 

"Damn it, Incacha. What are you playing at?" Jim asked aloud. 

A few of the closest warriors threw Jim an amused look at hearing their brother in arms talking to himself. Almost unbidden, Jim reached out his hearing and found Incacha deep in conversation with Apurimac and Muyuna. 

"Did your mother never tell you it was impolite to listen in on other people's conversations, Enqueri?" 

Incacha spoke quietly, but the words were as clear as day to Jim. He started, realizing what had happened. 

"What the hell!" he exclaimed. 

The warrior nearest to him raised an eyebrow quizzically, but returned to stringing his bow with a laugh. Jim was embarrassed to be found out eavesdropping, and was surprised that the shaman knew. Incacha was still a mystery to him. He smiled to himself and continued cleaning his weapon. After he had finished, he watched the other Chopec men around him. Over the past fifteen months he had learned to respect these men. In their own way, they were as good as the Rangers Jim had served with. They used only simple, crude weapons, but they were deadly accurate and single-mindedly vicious when the need arose. At first Jim had been horrified at their willingness to slaughter an enemy already overcome. Jim had to remind himself many times over that they were fighting for their very existence. Justice in the jungle was their justice, not his. Jim was still bothered by their ferocity, but he had learned to let it go and, if he admitted it to himself, had learned to use it to achieve his mission. 

They were now ready for battle. The last few hours before they left would see them pack their weapons and a few essential items, say goodbye to their families, share a last meal and have a few hours sleep in their own beds before leaving, some never to return. Jim felt a comradeship with these men he could never explain in words. Only another soldier who had fought in battle, stood side by side and shed blood in a common cause would understand. 

Shaking the lethargy of such grim thoughts from his mind, Jim went about his own pressing duty, to find a knife for his guide. He didn't know if Blair had any skill with a bow and arrow or a spear, but he doubted it. A knife was a sensible choice as a weapon for an untrained man. Jim couldn't give him a gun, he didn't have one. No, that wasn't true; he had guns, but no rounds. He only had enough for the rifle he carried because he scavenged them from the fallen bodies of the rebels. Jim had resorted to stealing weapons and rounds many months ago. A knife it was then, Jim decided. He took out his Ka Bar. It was well-used, but a good balanced, exacting knife, serrated wickedly on one edge with a slick, sharp counter-edge that did its job with a deadly efficiency. It would serve his guide well. Jim cleaned and oiled the knife, returned it to its sheath and then carried it to Blair's hut. Jim contemplated going inside, but he held back without knowing why. He placed the knife on the ground outside the door and then went to finish his own preparations. 

Much later, as night deepened, Jim came back to Blair's hut. He had spent the remainder of his time that day briefing the Chopec warriors and talking further with Apurimac, Muyuna and Incacha. Finally everything was ready and Jim was anxious to be underway. He noticed that various other items had now joined the knife outside Blair's hut, like offerings at an altar. Jim noticed food wrapped in large green leaves, clothing to replace Blair's own (what there was of it) and various pouches. Jim could identify most of the contents from their smells; powders and ointments, salves and lotions. It seemed that Blair was being seconded as a makeshift medic as well. That would be Incacha's doing, Jim thought. Too keyed up to sleep, but knowing that rest was necessary, Jim sat outside Blair's hut, closed his eyes and relaxed from his alert state for the first time that day. As he relaxed he listened and found his guide's heartbeat. It steadied him, helped him relax further. He sniffed and found his guide's scent. It surrounded him and made his skin shiver, even though he wasn't cold. Night deepened, but still Jim sat guard. 

He knew when Blair was about to leave the hut. Jim raised his own heartbeat and opened his eyes. Blair was kneeling part in and part out of the doorway. He was looking at the items on the ground. His fingers touched each item like a caress, but rested on the knife. 

"Yours?" he asked Jim. 

Jim nodded. He could not speak. He was feasting on the sight of his guide. Every nuance in the color of his hair and the blues of his eyes was absorbed avidly, despite the gloom. Jim was surprised to find a hunger he had not known existed was sated by the sight before him. It fed him, sustained him. 

"I'm not a fighter," Blair added quietly. 

Jim was surprised again. Blair wasn't making excuses; he was making a statement, letting Jim know the truth. For a moment there was an honesty between them that was not laced with hate or anger. Jim lapped it up. 

"I know," he responded. "I can't promise you won't have to fight, Blair. This is not a stroll in the park. If it all goes wrong, we'll all be fighting for our lives." 

Jim didn't offer his guide the option of not going along. That somehow felt like an insult to the young man and Jim had too much respect for him to do that. Blair had already survived so much. 

"I'll protect you, Blair." The words 'or die trying' were unsaid, but hung in the air between them. "Incacha will stay with you and there's no warrior better among the Chopec." 

Blair nodded. There was a lull in the conversation between the two men that threatened to become awkward. Incacha took that moment to appear. He had a small pot in his hand which he added to the items on the ground. 

"For your feet, it will toughen the skin," he said with a smile. "You should sleep; we leave with the dawn." 

Blair nodded and Jim settled back down. 

"You too, Enqueri," Incacha ordered. 

Jim was about to protest when he saw the humor in Blair's face and the mock seriousness on Incacha's. He felt like a naughty boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, grounded as a punishment. He rose quickly and returned to his own hut, slightly aggrieved. Where did Incacha get off treating him like a child, especially when his guide was there? When you act like one, he told himself. Well I won't be able to sleep, he sulked. He huffed as he lay down and a laugh found its way to his ears. Incacha! How does he do that? Jim wondered as sleep claimed him. 

* * *

Since returning from his confrontation with Jim, Blair had hardly left his hut. He had gone outside only when he had to, to relieve himself. The rest of the time, when he wasn't asleep, he sat or paced, but mainly sat. Pacing involved about two and a half steps wall to wall, and you couldn't get up a good head of steam in two and a half steps. Once more the Chopec Shaman had left Blair with more questions than answers. He still couldn't understand how he had agreed to go along on this mission. He had a distinct impression it had not entirely been his choice. He considered going after Incacha and telling him that he had changed his mind. Blair dismissed that idea almost immediately. Despite the horrors he had lived through in the last few months, the anthropologist inside him, it seemed, was alive and well and just waiting to get out. The thought of being a witness to a hunting party in action was tantalizing. Few white men ever got that chance. Mentally he was already writing the introductory chapter of a paper he could get out of it. 

He also knew that he would get to see a sentinel and guide pair in action. From the moment he had first read Burton's monograph, he had known that he wanted to learn more about these brave, solitary men. They had become a romantic notion that he dreamed of, knights in shining armor with heightened senses. His research had disabused him of that notion. He now knew a sentinel was not John Wayne riding off into the sunset to do battle with the bad guy, but an integral part of a whole company of warriors tasked with roles crucial to the survival of the village. The sentinel might have a pivotal role, taking point, identifying danger well before it reached the tribe or the tribe reached it, but he did not work in isolation. A sentinel had a guide who watched his back while his senses roamed far into the jungle. Blair had likened the guide to a sniper's spotter in modern military terms, but knew even that interpretation only skimmed the surface. As far as Blair knew, no one had ever found a sentinel with all five senses enhanced. He believed that the modern world had done away with the need for such men and Mother Nature, never slow to allow her unnecessary creations to evolve, had weeded out those extraordinary beings, leaving only those with one or two enhanced senses to survive. He had come across examples of such people working for brewers, tea blenders and perfume companies, but never someone with all five senses. Yet here he was in the same village with not only an honest to goodness genuine sentinel, but a sentinel with a guide. It was like all your Christmas presents for the rest of your life delivered to your door on one day. It was unbelievable. And he, Blair Sandburg, would get the chance to see them work under the most extreme conditions, conditions that sentinels and guides were made for. 

Blair felt vindicated. He had argued with Eli on many occasions that if sentinels still existed then this was where they would be found, in those few places in the world where civilization had not tainted a simple existence. Eli had not believed him, theorizing that Burton's postulations were based on little empirical evidence and, as such, were suspect. But Blair had been right. His delight at proving his academic point was tempered by knowing he would never be able to share his success with his mentor. Such sober thoughts withered his enthusiasm, and from there Blair was only a short step to thoughts of the other sentinel in the village. 

"God," he muttered to himself and ran his fingers through his hair. 

It was hot and the long curls made him sweat. He felt dirty and sick. Images of Ellison standing there as he was dragged away by Ullasku filled Blair's head instantly. He had no power to keep them at bay; it was all too recent, it all hurt too much. Blair didn't know how to reconcile his dream come true with a nightmare. 

Beyond his wildest dreams, he had found a modern day sentinel, a man from his own world, Christ, from his own city, from the place where he lived. How ironic was that? He should be shouting his discovery from the treetops; instead the very thought made his stomach turn. Suddenly the hut became stifling and he rushed outside taking deep gasping breaths. He stopped. The sun was shining; there was a bustle and hurry about the village that spoke of purposeful activity. Blair looked round. Even the children were running errands. Everyone knew what their job was and was determined to do it. They had to, their survival depended on it. And what was his job in all this, he wondered. Forcing one foot in front of the other Blair made his way to the latrines. On the way back he caught sight of Yarapa. The man now looked every inch the warrior his sentinel was. 

"I can't do this,"" he whispered to himself. 

_Why not?_

Blair looked round, searching for the questioning voice. He knew he had not uttered the words, but he had heard them clearly. "I'm not a warrior," he said under his breath, compelled to answer. He quickened his step, anxious to get back to the hut. 

_You have fought many battles already._

Blair was confused; was he the only one who could hear the words? No one else seemed to react to what he was hearing. He thought he must be imagining things. Maybe the shock of his death was finally catching up with him. Maybe he had been oxygen deprived and was suffering hallucinations. 

_You are quite sane, little one._

"Incacha!" Blair said out loud in surprise. He looked for the shaman, but could not find him. Okay, enough's enough, thought Blair. I'm staying here, I'm not going off on some testosterone-fuelled killing spree that is likely to end up with me dead, again. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. 

He reached the hut without any further one-sided conversations. He was glad of the shelter it gave him. It was like an oasis of sanity. Sitting on the bed, he noticed a plate of food had been placed on the floor in his absence. He ignored it, choosing instead to take deep gulps of water. His stomach didn't feel settled enough for anything solid. He used some of the water to wipe his face. For a few brief seconds he was cool and then the soothing balm of the water was lost in the heat of the day. Trying hard not to return to previous thoughts, he picked at the remains of his pants. They were all but rags now and hung precariously at his waist when he stood. He had lost too much weight. 

It always happened, whatever route his thoughts took they always brought him back to the horror. Blair closed his eyes and tried hard to push all those images out of his head. There were too many and no sooner had he shut off one vision then another would ambush him. 

"No!" he shouted. "This has to stop. I won't let this keep happening." 

His breath hitched in his throat. The strength of his outburst had given him a respite, albeit a short one. He dropped his head to his hands and rubbed his eyes. Opening them he saw the sandals that Ellison had made for him. They had felt good on his feet even though they had rubbed him in places. The cover over the door fluttered in what little breeze there was and Blair saw boots outside the hut; army issue boots. Ellison. Blair held his breath, not sure whether he wanted the man to come inside or not. Eventually, as the moment lengthened, Blair realized that Ellison wasn't going to disturb his solace. He sighed, disappointed. Blair was suddenly angry with himself that he should feel that way. For a split second he wanted to stick his head out of the hut and see where Ellison was going, but he dismissed the thought, chastising himself. 

Blair had always believed in fate. Sometimes when times were tough, he thought it was the only thing that saw him through. He had told himself and Naomi that everything happened for a reason, that we might not see the whys and wherefores then and there, but it was all in the grand scheme of things. Naomi had blithely ignored him, telling him that every human being had free will and the paths chosen in life were totally of each one's making. They had agreed to disagree. Blair lay down and pondered his own beliefs. If he truly believed in fate then he had been brought to this moment in time for a reason. He didn't want to accept that it had been to be Ellison's guide. 

_Why not?_

"Not you again?" Blair demanded. "Can't I even think in peace and quiet now? I'm not a guide!" Blair was insistent. 

_Yes you are._

"No, I'm not." 

_Yes._

"My God you're stubborn," he muttered and a wolf stood before him. Blair jumped back. "Where the hell did you come from?" 

_He is your spirit guide._

"Wow!" Blair wanted to dispute the statement, but most of him was consumed with curiosity. He stretched out hesitant fingers and found rough gray fur. "I can feel him," he declared, astonished. 

_You have seen him before._

It was a statement, not a question. 

"Yeah, he showed me where to build the wall and ..." Blair paused, just realizing something. "He was in the blue jungle when I died. I was him or more like he was me and there was a big black cat, a panther. They, we, ran at each other. There was a white blinding light. I remember it." Blair paused again. "I don't understand it, but I remember it now. Wow! I have a spirit animal. Cool!" 

Blair reached to scratch the wolf behind the ears. The wolf turned his head into the attention. "Good boy," Blair intoned, smiling at the animal. 

The wolf moved away from Blair and sat itself by the entrance to the hut. 

"Oh come on! Not you too?" Blair sighed as he realized the wolf was waiting for him to leave. 

_You have followed your wolf before, little one. Will you not follow him now?_

Blair slumped down on his bed and put his arm across his face, blocking out his view of the hut and the wolf. He listened to the sounds around him; feet running, voices raised, bustle, but not panic. Blair remembered panic, remembered when his camp site had been attacked, when guns started firing. He and Eli had been discussing their journey. Blair was trying to dissuade his mentor from following Carlos' advice. Carlos was supposed to be leading them back to civilization. They had been walking for three days and Blair was convinced something was wrong. It had not taken as many days to walk into the thick jungle and while he knew they were loaded down with gifts and so were moving slower, it was still taking too long. Stoddard had dismissed his concerns. Sometimes Blair was annoyed by Eli's absent-minded professor tendencies. In the jungle that kind of unclear thinking was dangerous. Blair snorted. 'Unclear thinking', what a joke, he thought. It felt like he hadn't had a clear thought since that night the camp was attacked. Now he was trying to make a decision that could get him killed, and clarity would have been really helpful. 

"Okay, Sandburg. Let's look at the facts," he told himself. 

He had to admit, as he had told anyone who would listen and a few who wouldn't, that he was slightly obsessed with sentinels. He had read anything and everything in any way slightly connected to the subject. He had searched the internet for arcane references; he had pestered the poor chief librarian for copies of ancient and obscure tomes of long dead anthropologists and explorers in the hope that there might be even the smallest word about them. He knew that if someone had told him six months ago that he would meet three sentinels, two of whom were genuine and that one of them would want him to be their guide, he would have laughed at such an unlikely suggestion and then bitten a hand off to get the job. 

The reality was a fucking mess. He turned on his side, pulling up his knees. Hugging himself, he closed his eyes tight. Thinking in the dark was easier. If he went with Ellison, if he became his guide, then he would have to put aside Ellison's betrayal. But somehow, illogically, he felt that if he had to forget that then he had to let go of what Ullasku had done to him as well. He couldn't do that, not yet. It was too big a task, too big a hill to climb. 

"You want to carry this with you forever, schmuck?" he asked himself angrily. 

Blair knew the answer to that. No. The logical part of him knew that, if he wanted to move on with his life, then he would have to come to terms with what Ullasku had done to him. If he waited until he was ready to do that, then the chance to work with Ellison would be long gone. 

"Shit!" Blair moaned and turned to his other side. 

He had to decide what he wanted more; his anger or his passion. 

"It's not that easy," he cried in anguish. 

_Yes it is, little one._

The wolf nudged at him with his nose. It was wet and rough on Blair's cheek. Slowly Blair sat up and stared into the wolf's blue eyes. 

"I can't let go of the hate, of the anger. Not yet," he told the wolf. "But I can try to ..." His words died in his throat. "I can try to go forward, at least for now." 

The wolf stared back as if considering Blair's words. Apparently satisfied with what he heard, the wolf nudged its way on to Blair's bed and settled down. Pushed to the edge of the pallet, Blair chuckled and lay down, as best he could, next to the wolf. 

"I think you're going to be a pain in the butt," he told the wolf. 

A throaty huff was the only response he got. Blair couldn't sleep, despite his companion. He lay awake, his hand feeling the rough fur, wondering how he would cope with the future. He had no answers to that. 

"One day at a time, Sandburg. One day at a time," he told himself. 

As time went on Blair became aware that Ellison was back, sitting outside his hut. The wolf got up and stretched. He scratched behind his ear and then trotted out of the hut without the cover on the doorway even shivering. Blair lifted the cover, not surprised to see the wolf was gone. On the ground in front of him lots of different items were laid out, including a very military-looking knife. 

"Yours?" he asked Ellison. 

Jim nodded. 

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX - REDEMPTION**

They left before dawn. The Chopec village was located at the very end of the Pass, guarding the path through the mountains, but positioned where the high ground started to level out. Their way in the early morning cool was upward, following the narrow trail up into the mountains. They pushed on hard at first, before the heat built up. Muyuna and Yarapa had gone off ahead of the hunting party. Ellison had looked at Blair, asking him silently to join him. Blair had looked at his feet and, when he brought his eyes back up, Ellison was gone. 

Blair's dreams had been plagued with dark, violent images that took his breath away and woke him in a sweat, dizzy with imagined pain and horrors. On more than one occasion he had wiped tears from his face, embarrassed and ashamed that what had happened could still make him cry. In between the nightmares the wolf stalked the blue jungle. There were occasional sightings of the panther. The animal was never close enough to see all of it; there were just tantalizing glimpses. The panther confused him, leaving him twisting and turning on the narrow pallet. He had finally woken feeling tired and thickheaded. Morning ablutions didn't make him feel any better, and once again his stomach recoiled at the thought of food. He checked the leather sack he had been given. Everything was in there. He drank the milk that had been left for him, wrapped the uneaten food and put it in the bag. Lastly he put on his new clothes and sandals and joined the group of warriors waiting at the edge of the village. 

He felt guilty about not going with Ellison, but now it was happening, now he was amongst the fierce tribal warriors, the logic of the previous night had deserted him. He couldn't believe he had persuaded himself that he could do this. There was no way he could keep up with these men when it came to fighting the rebels. He felt like running back to his hut and hiding there until it was all over. Looking around, ready to bolt, he realized he was being watched. Incacha was staring at him. The older man's calm gaze seemed to settle Blair and, as the main group moved off, the shaman fell into step beside him. 

Blair couldn't bring himself to say anything in those first few hours, and he was relieved when Incacha remained silent too. The headache he had woken with was changing from a thick gray yucky feeling to a sharp pinpoint pain right behind his eyes. As the sun rose the pain grew worse. He squinted in an effort to cut out the light. When they made their first stop, there was a thumping to accompany the pain that had Blair rubbing his temples in desperation. A hand on his shoulder eased the pain immediately. 

"Blair, are you okay?" It was Ellison. "You look tired." 

"I didn't sleep well," Blair replied, not expanding any further. 

"Drink this," Ellison suggested, holding out his water pouch. 

Blair drank deeply. Despite the hours since they had left the village, and the heat of the day, the water was refreshingly cool. 

"Have you eaten?" Ellison asked. 

Blair shook his head. "What are you, my mother?" he grumbled. 

Ellison stiffened. "It's not too late to go back you know!" he snapped. 

"I said I would come, Ellison. I don't go back on my word," Blair retorted. 

Ellison flinched as though he had been slapped. Blair groaned. He didn't want things to go like this, he hadn't meant to remind Ellison of his betrayal. But part of him enjoyed the flicker of pain he had seen cross Ellison's face before the soldier shut himself off. Ellison turned and walked away. Blair turned his back on Ellison and looked at the wolf sitting in front of him. Blair could swear the wolf was looking at him with disapproval. 

"Oh give me a break," he said to the wolf. 

Hearing someone chuckle, Blair turned and found Incacha smiling at him. 

"Alright, alright, I'll go with him." 

Blair was confused. He wanted the opportunity of this thing with Ellison, whatever that turned out to be. Hell, before all of this he would have died to get the chance to guide an honest to goodness sentinel. But now he had died and things weren't as black and white as they had been in his safe little world. That world didn't exist anymore and Blair had to make a new one. Maybe he had to fight for that new world and, whatever that world was, it was never going to be as safe again. 

"Little one, wait." 

Blair turned back. He hadn't realized he was following Ellison's footsteps. 

"Stay with me today. You can guide your sentinel tomorrow. Today you must conserve some strength." 

Blair looked at Incacha and then at Ellison's back as he strode away. He found he wanted to go after Ellison even though he had cut the man off only a few minutes ago. His uncertainty disappeared when Incacha put his hand on Blair's shoulder. 

"Okay," he sighed. 

"Eat!" Incacha insisted, giving Blair some strips of dried meat. Squatting on his haunches and chewing, he didn't realize his headache had disappeared. 

* * *

Jim was furious. He just wasn't sure whether he was angrier at himself or Blair. He was doing his best to be patient with Blair, but he needed his guide in this situation. Jim mulled over Blair's throw away remark about keeping his word. He knew whatever Blair had to throw at him was well-deserved, but part of him still prickled at the insult. Jim growled deep in his throat in frustration and lengthened his stride. 

Yarapa and Muyuna, as the true sentinel guide pairing of the Chopec, took point. Jim, accepted by the tribal warriors as an excellent soldier and a sentinel in his own right, was able to choose which path he took. He chose to take the right flank. From his study of the rebels and his experiences in the last few months, Jim had decided that this position could be the most advantageous. 

Late in the afternoon, Jim had drifted wide from the main group. His direction was still mainly north, but angled somewhat northwest. A slightly out of place noise skirted at the furthest extent of his hearing. Jim stopped, shifted his body position so that he stood face on to the noise and slowly extended his hearing. He knew that without a guide, what he was doing was dangerous; he could easily zone. Jim intended to push his hearing out for only the briefest moment. When he caught the sound again he knew immediately it was metallic. Unknowingly his body leaned forward, as Incacha had taught him to do. He needed to imagine what could make that sort of noise. The visualization made the noise easier to locate, according to the Chopec shaman. Methodically Jim envisaged a rebel soldier. As he traveled over the virtual body in his mind's eye, the sound grew fainter. Jim pushed towards it again. Dismissing various causes, Jim finally settled on one possibility. He knew he had heard a similar noise before. Systematically he searched his sensory memories, trying to find a match. Incacha had tried to teach him to do this before, without much success. Jim pushed himself harder than he had ever done in his lessons and an image came to mind. It was the ring on an AK47, where the shoulder strap connected. The small metallic circle was knocking against something else metal, something flat with a much lower tone, something hard, but dense. Jim reached for his knife forgetting for a moment that he had given it to Blair. He carried his in a sheath that sat in front of his collar bone. Many of the rebels carried their knives and machetes strapped to their belts, in the small of their backs. The picture was clear to Jim now and so he used that image to push even further. The rhythmic click of metal on metal came to him immediately and he was suddenly overwhelmed. 

* * *

Unexpectedly, Blair shivered suddenly. If he had been asked, he would have said that someone had walked over his grave. Turning to look at the wolf who had padded behind him all day, Blair peered questioningly at the animal that was apparently invisible to all but him. The wolf had its ears pricked up, alert. 

"What is it?" Incacha asked quietly, at Blair's side. 

"I don't know," Blair replied. "I feel weird." 

The wolf took off running. Blair watched him go. 

Incacha followed the wolf. As he ran he looked back over his shoulder. "Are you coming, little one?" he shouted. 

"Where?" Blair replied. 

"Follow the wolf." 

Incacha laughed as he disappeared into the jungle. Blair, cursing openly, took after Incacha aware that he in turn was followed by at least two warriors. It took them nearly forty five minutes to reach their destination. Blair had not been able to keep on running and had been forced to constantly slow his pace. Ellison stood as still as a statue. Blair was struck by the strength and sensuality of the man's hard body. It glistened with sweat and the months with the Chopec had toned every inch of flesh. 

"Guide your sentinel, little one." 

Incacha broke into Blair's thoughts and he blushed at the look he saw on the shaman's face; a look that told Blair that Incacha knew what he had been thinking. The wolf sat at Ellison's feet pawing at his leg. 

"What do you mean, 'guide' him? I don't know what to do," Blair protested a little hotly, his embarrassment giving his voice a higher pitch. 

"Trust your instincts and your heart." 

Blair stood in front of Ellison feeling completely lost. "Okay, Sandburg, you can do this," he muttered to himself. 

Shrugging his shoulders to embolden himself, he stepped closer to the frozen man. "Ellison," he said firmly, but quietly. 

Nothing happened. Blair looked over at Incacha, who was watching him. Clearing his throat, Blair tried again. "Ellison," he said loudly, and placed a hand on a well-muscled forearm. 

He felt a ripple across Ellison's skin that seemed to echo in his hand and continue its way up his arm and into his brain. It also seemed to travel south to his groin and Blair adjusted his stance, uncomfortable with the feeling that proximity to Ellison was giving him. Blair cleared his throat, telling himself silently to get a grip. Mentally flicking through his researches to find references to zones and how to pull a sentinel out of one, Blair realized how ill-prepared he was for the job that Ellison wanted him to do. 'Follow your instincts' Incacha had said. Blair nodded; as a scientist he could do that. He stepped back and took a good look at Jim's demeanor. He knew zone outs occurred when sentinels concentrated too much on one sense. All he had to do was figure out which sense Ellison had zoned on and then he could counteract that by stimulating one or two of his other senses, forcing his brain to kick back into gear. He thought he could discount touch; the sentinel wasn't in contact with anything Blair hadn't seen him wear or handle constantly over the last few days. Blair knew he couldn't completely discount taste zoning the sentinel, but statistically it was unlikely. Smell was always a tricky sense to eliminate because what the sentinel could smell Blair probably couldn't, and at any time the jungle was rife with all sorts of weird and wonderful smells. Blair decided to put that one on the back burner for the time being; he could always come back to it. That left hearing and sight. Jim's head was cocked to one side as though listening. Blair had seen dogs adopt a similar stance. Jim's eyes were half-closed. Blair discounted sight. The sentinel would have had his eyes wide open staring in the direction of the object he was trying to see. By a process of elimination Blair concluded that Jim had zoned on hearing. Now all he had to decide was which senses to stimulate to override the zone out. 

Sight would have been the easiest if Jim hadn't had his eyes half closed. Jim had reacted to the touch of Blair's hand on his arm, so he could definitely use that and he decided to try taste in combination. Smell was a tricky one. The jungle was overflowing with smells, to try and isolate one was difficult. With taste, Blair knew he had more control. He could directly stimulate Jim's taste buds. The problem was what he should use to do that. He couldn't risk a taste that was overpowering or it would just topple the sentinel into an even deeper zone out as the taste drew Jim from one zone, but pushed him into another. The taste had to be something powerful but mild, not bland, but not chili cook-out burning. Blair looked around. Nothing leapt out at him. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. He was sweating with the expectation Incacha placed upon him. Blair looked over at the Chopec shaman who was still standing there, smiling. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Blair turned back to the zoned out sentinel. 

"You are sweating, little one?" Incacha asked. 

"Yeah," Blair muttered. 

Nothing like stating the obvious, he thought. Blair stopped and looked at the back of his hand. Sweat. Human musk was pungent, but not overstated; most of the time we didn't even smell it. Blair licked the back of his hand. He could taste the salt and that peculiar male muskiness that he always associated with a light peppery taste. Pausing he considered his plan. It was one thing for Blair to taste his own sweat, but he would bet his bottom dollar that Ellison wouldn't be too pleased with being forced to taste Blair's. Too bad, Blair decided with a half smile. Drastic measures were called for. Placing his hand on Ellison's right forearm, Blair wiped at the sweat that had already sprung out again on his forehead. Reaching forward to Ellison's mouth he stopped and the half smile grew into an evil grin. Musk was strongest at those parts of the body where people sweated most and those parts were normally where skin touched skin in close proximity and no or little air circulated. Blair dismissed his first thought as just a little too gross even for Ellison and then proceeded to raise an arm and stick his fingers into his armpit. Blair heard Incacha chuckle. Sniffing the offending fingers, Blair carefully pried Jim's lips apart and slid his two fingers into the cavernous warmth of Jim Ellison's mouth. 

As the two fingers slid in an image, unbidden, came to Blair and he groaned. He felt the frisson of his earlier arousal blossom as his groin stirred. Shame, guilt and anger flashed through his mind and the image was squashed as quickly as it had appeared. Blair was left with a momentary warmth that he felt down to his toes. All the negative feelings dissipated in the afterglow. Blair rubbed the tips of his fingers on Jim's tongue as his hand stroked up and down his arm. The same almost electric ripple washed over Blair, but he didn't think that there were any other signs of awakening consciousness from Ellison. He removed his fingers and thought about repeating the exercise. 

Suddenly his arms were gripped and he was pulled in hard against Ellison's chest. Blair looked up into the man's face, ready to judge what next best step to take. The sentinel closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He's scenting me, Blair thought excitedly. The grip on his arms tightened and he was pulled to his tiptoes as Ellison pulled his body closer. Blair closed his eyes. A feeling of coming home swept over him. One of his arms was released and fingertips ghosted over the scab on his shoulder that marked the bite that Ullasku had put there. Blair wanted more of that touch, but something still held him back. As if sensing his reluctance, Jim dropped his face to Blair's shoulder and proceeded to lick the whole area affected by the bite; the scabs, the bruises, all of it. Blair relaxed, strangely unafraid of the primal animalistic behavior. 

"Mine," whispered Jim in Blair's ear. 

Yours, Blair heard reverberate in his brain, but he could not utter the word. 

Ellison stiffened and let Blair go. He felt bereft but, as Jim opened his eyes, Blair smiled. 

"Welcome back, man." 

Jim smiled at him and quietly offered his thanks. 

"What did you zone on?" Blair asked, his scientific interest coming to the fore now that his sentinel was safe. 

"The rebels are massing in the northwest, about two miles away. 

"You could hear that far?" Blair was amazed at the range Ellison had. 

"Enqueri's natural talents are greater than I have ever seen." 

Blair felt something akin to pride prickle at his spine. 

"Once he has his guide he will be stronger still." 

Blair realized he had been suckered again. Glancing first at Incacha and then at Jim, Blair held the sentinel's intense focus for a few seconds that felt like a lifetime. He nodded imperceptibly, but it was enough for both Jim and Incacha. 

"Good," Incacha clapped. We must make more ground before we rest for the night. Enqueri, take your guide and find out more. Tell Muyuna to circle around so you can pinpoint their position. 

* * *

The next few hours passed in a blur for Blair. The two men were constantly on the move, but every step was carefully considered for its implications. Jim was unendingly considerate of both Blair's lack of confidence in his ability to effectively guide his sentinel and his health. He repeatedly checked that Blair wasn't being pushed too far, that he was rested, that he had enough water, that his feet didn't hurt. His mother had never fussed as much as this. He felt stifled. 

"I'm fine," he shouted irritably at Jim's umpteenth call for a water break. 

Jim looked sheepish. 

"For God's sake, Ellison, you're a Ranger. Get a grip, man. I'm fine, we're fine. Now let's get on with this. I may not know what I'm doing here with this guide thing, but I'm not going to break, man. Lighten up." 

Jim smiled. I think I just passed some sort of test, Blair thought and stamped off ahead of Jim, muttering about damn military types. He didn't see Jim grinning at his retreating back. 

* * *

The two men stayed together that night as they camped, ate and slept. They didn't talk much, but Blair noticed that Jim was being careful about overwhelming him. Blair was thankful for that, but still angry. His anger was directed at Ellison, but he was also angry at himself. He couldn't accept that he was working with Ellison. This was the man who had promised him safety and then let him be taken by Ullasku, to be raped and killed. How could he even stand to be close to the man? He should hate him with a vengeance. Instead, here he was side by side with Ellison, eating the food he gave him, drinking the water he offered, wearing the sandals he had made. Blair's anger bit deep. He was ashamed of himself and ashamed of his feelings. How could he possibly have been even remotely aroused after what he had been through? Blair felt tears prick at the back of his eyes and was angry all over again, this time at his own weakness. Roughly, Blair wiped his hand across his eyes and stared into the darkness of the jungle. Emotions conflicted and warred within him; one minute he felt on the edge of weeping, the next his fury was incandescent, and then in another breath his face went hot at the thought of himself being scented by Ellison. 

Worst of all was the feeling of belonging, of oneness with the tall, quiet Ranger. Blair had been brought up by his free-spirited mother and he had willingly and easily followed in her footsteps. It had served him well, as it had served her. Blair had spent holidays with a whole range of family and quasi-family members, mostly Naomi's old boyfriends, gathering wonderful new experiences and learning life skills that a person of his age had no right to have. Rainier University had been Blair's first dose of stability and inertia. At first he had balked at the constraints, but the patience and understanding of Eli Stoddard had given him a sense of belonging that he found he thirsted for. Sponge-like, Blair had made friends and built a place to lay his hat. The wanderlust was still a part of him, though, and that was one reason he had agreed to accompany Eli on their ill-fated trip. 

Three months of being owned by Ullasku, of being treated like a pet, even worse a thing, had pushed Blair into a longing for those carefree unattached days with his mother. The very thought that he now felt any sort of belonging to or with another human being was an anathema to him; the thought sickened him, angered him. Blair stomped away from the camp, disgusted with himself. Ellison got up to follow him, at a distance, but a hand on his shoulder stalled him. 

"Give him his time alone, Enqueri," Incacha said softly. 

Jim sat back down and tracked his guide's path with his senses. 

* * *

The next morning, after they broke camp, the two sentinel and guide pairings set off in different directions. Jim was delighted that Blair had gone with him without being asked. Muyuna had consulted with Jim before they set off. The plan was to trail the rebels and attack from two different directions in a classic pincer movement, catching as many as possible in a deadly crossfire. Jim and Blair led a group off in the same northwesterly direction. Half the warriors, including Incacha, followed them. The others went with Muyuna. 

It was hot, hard, slow, agonizing work. Jim pushed himself harder than he had ever done. Moving that number of men through the jungle silently while tracking the movements of the rebels meant he was relying almost entirely on hearing. With Blair at his back he felt supremely confident. The younger man seemed to know exactly when he needed grounding, when he pushed too far with his senses and needed pulling back. As they stopped for yet another water break, Jim hunkered down next to his guide. 

"How are you doing?" he asked. 

Blair was pale. He hadn't slept well the night before. When he had eventually come back, the younger man had studiously avoided Jim and refused to make eye contact with him. There had been no reply to any of Jim's questions, so Jim had taken what comfort he could from his guide's presence on the blanket next to his. Blair had tossed and turned most of the night, settling into a light doze just before dawn. 

Blair nodded. "I'm okay." 

"It won't be long now. You had best stay back when the fighting starts. A lot of it will be hand to hand," Jim advised with the best of intentions. 

Jim saw the relief flow across Blair's face, only to be replaced by a flush of embarrassment. Jim recognized the anger in those reddened cheeks. He hurried to make amends. 

"It's not that I don't think you can look after yourself, Chief. It's just that if you're not used to it, close quarters fighting can be pretty hard to stomach." 

"I'll be fine," Blair muttered. 

There was an awkward silence as both men drank more water. Jim offered Blair some dried meat, which was declined. As he chewed, Jim found himself checking his guide's heartbeat and breathing. Considering what he had been through, his guide was holding up well. 

Jim stood suddenly, said one word which had the warriors with him stepping forward, alert. Jim listened, then issued quiet, firm orders. Men scattered to take up position. 

"This is it, Chief. Stay behind me." 

Blair nodded. Jim noticed his face had paled even more. Jim wanted nothing more, at that moment, than to hold his guide close and hide him from the horror that was about to come. 

At a shouted signal Jim moved forward, reluctantly leaving thoughts of protection behind. As the only member of the Chopec with a rifle he had to be in the forefront of the attack. He switched to Ranger-mode and charged into the fray, hitting human targets, watching them drop to the ground. He kept his guide's heartbeat close to him as he fought. 

* * *

Blair did as he was told, even though part of him balked at what he perceived as cowardice. He swallowed hard at the thought of the alternative. The sounds of battle swept round him, ebbing and flowing with the shadows. He heard Ellison's gun, and the screams of dying men. Wiping the palms of his hands to clean them of sweat, he touched the grip of the Ka Bar as if it were a talisman that could keep him safe. Men shouted in fear and anger all around him. Movement to his right made him start anxiously. 

"Jim. Incacha," he whispered urgently, keen to reassure himself of his safety. 

A man burst through the greenery. Blair threw himself backwards, pulling the Ka Bar from its sheath. He held the knife out in front of him, a Don Quixote lance against an AK47 windmill. The man in front of him seemed surprised to see him. That surprise turned to pleasure and the man smiled. Blair stepped back again. His opponent had stark white teeth. Not knowing where it came from, Blair put his head down and charged. The man was obviously taken unaware and the two of them tumbled head over heels into the jungle. Blair disentangled himself and rushed to his feet only to find he was inches from the wrong end of the automatic weapon. He flinched as the trigger was pulled. Expecting the thud of bullet against flesh, Blair would later be hard pressed to say who was more surprised when the only sound was the harsh panting of two frightened men and the clack of metal against metal as the rifle jammed. The rebel looked aghast at his useless weapon and Blair lunged forward, catching his opponent on the back of the hand with the knife. The rebel threw the rifle down on the ground in disgust and pulled a wicked-looking machete from a scabbard he wore on his back. 

"Shit!" Blair muttered and fell back as the man swiped at him with the large knife. 

He felt a line of fire across his chest and turned away from the danger. Stumbling, he heard the machete swing above his head. He wondered if he had lost a few curls. Spinning as he lost his footing, Blair caught his opponent off guard and slashed at his thigh. He missed by a country mile. Landing hard on the ground, Blair kept rolling. The man followed, lashing out with his boots, catching Blair in the ribs once, twice. Gasping at the pain, Blair saw the man turn away and reach for his discarded rifle. Still gripping the knife, Blair slashed out and saw the blade slice through the back of the man's ankle. He fell, screaming. Blair had sliced through his Achilles tendon and the man could only crawl. Struggling to his feet, with one arm clamped across his chest holding his damaged ribs, Blair skirted the prone man, who was still reaching for his rifle even as he bled on the ground around him. 

Blair picked up the rifle, if only to keep it away from the rebel. With it in his hands, he suddenly felt overwhelmed. His hands were full; he wasn't sure how to hold the knife and the rifle all at the same time. Taking in deep breaths, he let one shaking hand put the knife back in its sheath even though it took him three tries. With both hands on the rifle Blair pointed it at the man who was now still. He put his finger on the trigger, but could do no more. He ran from the scene, grasping the rifle like a club. 

Blair wasn't sure which way he ran, though the sounds of battle followed him. His progress was stopped by a solid body, and without thinking, he swung his makeshift club. He knew he had made contact when the shock of impact ran up his arm and blasted into his shoulder. There was a grunt of pain from the mountain of flesh in front of him. Blair struck out again, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. With no answering blow, Blair kept swinging. By the time he stopped, his hands were slippery with sweat and he was sobbing. The butt of the rifle was covered in blood. Blair dropped the weapon, horrified by his actions. He managed to focus on the body at his feet. There was blood all over the man's face. He was still breathing; a rattling noise echoed in the small space between them. Blair dropped to his knees. 

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," he repeated over and over again. 

A body broke through the jungle and ran past Blair, ignoring the bloody mess. Blair pushed himself to his feet, biting down hard on his bottom lip. This was not time to fall apart; it could be fatal. He tried to step away, but staggered, unsteady on his feet. Noises got louder and he became aware of movement traveling towards him. 

Blair shambled away, each step getting stronger. No one stopped him and he relaxed as the noise died down, believing that maybe he had escaped the worst. He stopped, listening. Wiping his hand across his forehead he tried to get his breath back. Two warriors slid silently out of the jungle. Blair started in terror, but then smiled nervously as he realized the interlopers were not rebels. Neither warrior spoke and Blair suddenly felt uncomfortable. He didn't recognize either man, but he felt his skin go cold as he realized that the markings on their skin clearly identified them as Yacaya. Spinning, Blair confronted a face he had fervently wished he would never ever see again. 

* * *

Jim knew the second things went to hell in a hand basket. The Chopec had been getting the better of the rebels. Some of the better warriors had acquired rifles and rounds of their own from the dead rebels and were adding their own carnage to the deaths he was causing. The rebels were being pushed back. Jim expected them to try and break through the cordon that the Chopec were creating. It was a tactic they had employed before, with occasional success. Jim could never agree with their politics or their means, but he had a soldier's regard for their fighting skills and tactical awareness. They were fierce fighters and savvy in a way most West Point teachers would envy. The change of approach worried Jim and there was an itch between his shoulder blades that screamed trap. 

In an instant, Jim was aware. He turned one hundred and eighty degrees to stare behind him. A split second later he heard Muyuna's cry of warning. The Yacaya burst out of the jungle behind them. The warriors around Jim relaxed, believing their new allies had arrived to assist their battle. Jim recognized immediately that they had been betrayed. He shouted at the men not to lower their weapons, not to turn their backs on the new arrivals. Over the cacophony of battle sounds, not everyone heard his orders; the next few minutes were a bloody rout. It was the Chopec who now found themselves outflanked and outmaneuvered, their force split in two. Jim and the warriors with him were caught between the Yacaya and the rebels, fighting for their lives and losing. 

Jim, no slouch in the military tactics department himself, ordered his men to disperse. What worked for the rebels could work just as well for the Chopec. The fight deteriorated into one on one, mainly hand to hand battles. It was brutal, nasty and bloody; war at its most basic and obscene. Jim fought like a man possessed, using all his military trained skills and a few newly-learned fighting techniques that would have been frowned upon by most of Jim's former drill sergeants, but which saved his life now. Through it all he tried to keep track of Blair. He knew Yarapa and Muyuna fought back to back, guarding each other, but Jim knew he couldn't ask Blair to do that; he wouldn't last five minutes in this cauldron of barbarism. 

Fighting his way past several Yacaya warriors Jim found himself not far from where he had left Blair. His guide was nowhere to be seen. With no immediate threat to his own safety Jim's protective instincts for his guide came to the fore. Breathing deeply Jim turned at the smell of Blair's blood. He found the heartbeat; fast and racing. Jim took off in the direction it was coming from. Men blocked his way, men who wanted to kill him. But nothing came between a sentinel and his injured guide. Enqueri howled his defiance at those who dared to get in his way and struck out at them with feet, fists and weapons. The men who dared to fight the terrible warrior suffered a short, swift death. 

* * *

"No!" screamed Blair. 

Ullasku smiled. It was ugly and manic and then he laughed. Blair held out Jim's Ka Bar in front of him. He could see his hand shake and heard the fear in his own voice. 

"Stay away from me." 

Ullasku advanced and Blair retreated into the open arms of the two Yacaya warriors that had slipped around behind him unnoticed. Blair struggled in their grip, but they both had a tight hold on him. Ullasku came closer. His hand reached towards Blair's head. One of the Yacaya warriors had hold of Blair's arm and, as desperately as Blair wanted to, he couldn't use the knife he still held. Ullasku came closer to Blair, his hand slipping from Blair's hair to his cheek, to his chin. Blair shook. It was like being manhandled by something so slimy and cold that his skin crawled. Ullasku took his chin in a pinching grip and pulled Blair's face to his, forcing Blair to suffer the pressure of Ullasku's lips on his own. When Blair was finally allowed to turn his face away he desperately wanted to wipe the feel of the man from his lips. 

"You would defy me?" Ullasku threatened. 

"Fuck you, you bastard," Blair retorted, fear and anger depriving him of anything but a most basic response. 

"Being with the norteAmericano has given you back some spirit. I shall enjoy breaking it again. But first I think we need a new leash." 

Blair panicked and his terror lent him the strength to pull his knife arm from the grip of the warrior holding him. He swept the knife around, trying to slash the second warrior. He managed only the slightest of scratches before the first warrior tried to regain his hold. 

"No!" Blair screamed in frustration. "Not again." 

There was an eruption of sound and movement all around Blair and he felt himself lifted in the air and thrown sideways. He landed hard on his side, his sore ribs complaining loudly. His first thought was that there had been an explosion which had catapulted away the two men who had held him. When he saw the flurry of arms and legs he knew intuitively that there was someone else involved. A flash of camo pants identified Ellison, and Blair gave thanks for the soldier's presence. 

Blair's relief was short-lived. His hair was grabbed and he looked up to find Ullasku was looming over him. 

"Jim!" Blair shouted and lashed out with a foot, catching Ullasku on the knee. 

The Yacaya sentinel swore at Blair and reached to his side for his machete. Blair pushed himself forward and reached towards the monster that had savagely torn his life apart. As Ullasku turned back to Blair, machete in hand, Blair struck up. The Ka Bar slipped between Ullasku's ribs. Blair was amazed at how easily the blade bit into skin. He continued to push upward and, as Ullasku swung the machete around in a futile attempt to strike back, Blair simply ducked and let the dead man's momentum push the knife deeper into his own chest, through the lungs and slicing into the heart that no longer beat. 

The weight of his tormentor was too much and Blair fell backwards, Ullasku on top of him, the knife still grasped tightly, held fast in Ullasku's chest. Blair hit the ground, his breath knocked out of him. He couldn't move. Ullasku's face was an inch from his. Blair's terror built. The proximity of his tormentor, his inability to breathe and the feeling of sticky warmth all over his hand competed to rob him of his sanity. 

"It's okay, Blair. Hold on." 

The words were like a rush of icy water. He dragged in a stuttering breath. 

"Get him off me," he pleaded. 

"Okay, Chief. Just hang on." 

Blair was aware of hands trying to lift Ullasku's body from him. He closed his eyes, no longer able to look into that face. In the darkness behind his eyelids he was safe from the face that had taunted and tortured him. He became aware of a voice talking quietly to him. 

"You have to let go, Blair." 

He opened his eyes, confused. What did he have to let go of? 

Jim was talking to him. "Blair let go of the knife." 

"Knife?" he asked nonplussed. 

There were hands on his hands, prying his fingers apart. 

"Its okay, Blair. Let go." 

Slowly, finally he realized what Jim wanted him to do. As Blair unclenched his fingers the dead body was moved and taken away. Blair brought his hand up to his face and stared at it. The fingers were stiff and stained red. It's blood, he thought. 

"Am I hurt?" he asked Jim. 

He didn't remember being hurt that much. 

"No, it's not your blood." 

There was something strange in Jim's voice and Blair forced himself to focus on Jim. 

"Are you okay?" he asked in all innocence. 

There was no reply from Jim. The man in front of him looked infinitely sad for a fleeting second. 

"It's okay, Jim. Don't worry. We'll be okay now." 

He reached towards Jim and then stopped. The hand attached to his outstretched arm was covered in blood. It was Ullasku's blood. He had killed Ullasku, thrust Jim's knife deep into his chest and let the blood seep over his hand. 

"I killed him," Blair stated soullessly. 

"I know, Blair. It's okay." 

Blair turned to Jim and nodded. Maybe it will be, he thought. 

* * *

Jim gave him water, and Blair used it to wash his hand clean. By the time Blair was back on his feet the sounds of battle had lessened and, as Jim led Blair back to towards the scene of the fiercest fighting, those sounds had been replaced by the moans of dying, hurt men. The fight was over. Incacha limped towards them, grinning. He lifted his spear in greeting and victory. 

"The rebels have fled, Enqueri. We have won." 

Cries joined his upraised voice. Blair stayed silent and looked at Jim, who nodded. 

"You did good, Chief. You did good." 

* * *

The next few hours were soul-destroying. From the few Chopec left alive and unharmed enough, Jim chose sentries to guard the area. Dead bodies were separated from the living and left lying side by side. Yarapa, Blair and Incacha triaged the wounded from all sides and tended who they could, staying quietly with those they could not until they died. The cries of the wounded echoed into the night. 

When he could, Jim stayed close to Blair. The younger man was as white as a sheet and hardly spoke save to offer words of comfort where he could. He worked as hard as everyone else that night and, as the sun rose on the death and destruction, the last injured man was treated and the last dead body moved. Blair stood from where he had been crouched beside a young Yacaya warrior with a terrible gash down one arm. He had cleaned the wound, pasted a salve deep into the cut and packed the wound with the leaves Incacha had given him before wrapping bandages around the arm. Jim had handed Blair each item he had used. 

"He should sleep now," Blair said to no one in particular. 

"So should you," Jim told him, placing a hand on his arm. Jim felt Blair lean into his touch. 

"No," Blair said firmly. "I want to see him." 

Jim knew what his guide needed and didn't try to persuade the younger man otherwise. He led Blair to the area set aside for the dead bodies and pointed out Ullasku's still form. Blair walked unsteadily to the body. Jim stayed behind him all the way, placing a hand in the small of his back by way of support. The two of them stood there silently for a few minutes. Eventually, Blair turned away and walked to one of the fires that had been started to feed and warm the survivors. He sat on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest. 

Incacha handed Jim a small bag and nodded towards Blair. "See to your guide, Enqueri." 

Jim knelt down and unclasped Blair's hands. "You need to sit back so I can see to your cut," he told the quiet man. 

Blair looked at him, obeying without question. He's lost, thought Jim. He could almost see the adrenalin leech out of Blair. Jim knew he needed to get food into the young man and get him to sleep before he crashed completely. But first, he had to see to the cut and any other injuries he might have. The cut wasn't too deep, but it was long, making a steady line across his chest just below the heart. Jim cleaned the wound, added a thin layer of milky white cream and then bandaged it. As he tightened the bandage, Blair winced. Jim tied the bandage off and ran his hands gently over Blair's ribs. 

"Nothing broken as far as I can tell," Jim told him. 

Blair nodded distractedly. "I got kicked." 

With immediate medical needs taken care of, Jim settled down on the ground next to his guide. A plate of food appeared by his side and he held it out for Blair. 

"Eat this, Blair," he suggested gently. 

Again Blair did as he was told, picking at the food with his fingers. Jim coaxed him into eating everything on the plate and then gave him water to drink. 

"Enough," Blair finally said, and Jim took the water bag back. 

The fire crackled loudly and Blair shivered. Jim put his arm across the young man and pulled him close. Blair held out his hand. The flames from the fire burned brightly and Blair's hand glowed red in the reflected glow. 

"The blood's gone, Blair," Jim told him. 

The young man's face was an emotional open book. Blair turned to Jim and, with tears in his eyes, told him, "I can still see it." 

Jim couldn't find words to reply to his guide. Instead he gently laid him back on the ground and wrapped him safely in his embrace. As they slept, Incacha covered their tired bodies, a smile on his face. 

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN - THE WAY BACK**

The long slow trek back to the Chopec village took more days than the journey up the Pass. Litters were used to carry those who could not walk, and the bodies of the Chopec warriors. The remaining bodies were left face up to serve the jungle in the cycle of life and death. Stops were frequent, for both those that carried and those being carried. Blair worked almost continuously with the injured, but when he could he walked by Jim's side as Jim carried a litter. They didn't talk often. Jim, remembering his first kill, let his guide work his way through his emotions. He would be there when his guide needed him. Occasionally Jim would ask after the welfare of one of Blair's patients and Blair would give Jim the details quietly, with no fuss. 

Each night, when the injured were settled, the two men would sit side by side at the campfire. The warriors who joined them told stories of their fallen comrades, of their bravery in battle, of their prowess in bed; stories that honored brave men whose bodies they now carried home. Jim was pleased to see Blair laugh at some of the cruder tales that were told. When he was called upon to honor the dead on the second night, Jim was relieved to see Blair watch him throughout the telling of the tale of how he had lost his unit, how the helicopter had crashed and how his men had died. When he had finished, the Chopec warriors muttered their approval of his story and Jim's fellow Rangers joined the ranks of the honored Chopec dead. As the two men lay side by side later that night, Blair asked Jim a question he had been expecting. 

"I did the right thing, didn't I? I didn't have a choice did I?" 

Jim had thought long and hard as to what he would say in reply. Without forcing any physical contact on his guide, although God knows he wanted to, Jim answered. 

"You did the right thing, Blair. If you hadn't killed him, he would have killed you. It might not have happened right away, but, believe me, he would have killed you." 

Jim felt Blair shudder. 

"Then why do I feel so bad about it?" Blair asked. 

Jim sighed. He had to make Blair understand. "Because you weren't meant to be put in this situation, Blair. No one should be, but sometimes it happens and then all we can hope is that those people we have trained to defend us are there to do their job. When we aren't, or like now when civilians get caught up in our world, they are forced to fight and sometimes to kill. You should feel bad about it, Blair. If you didn't I would be worried, but you will come to terms with it; you'll have to, or pay out a fortune in therapy." 

Jim's attempt at levity fell flat. 

"But don't beat yourself up about it too much. It was him or you. I for one am glad you're still here." 

Blair turned to Jim. "And what about you Jim? How many deaths back there have you lost sleep over?" 

In the dark Jim could see Blair's eyes sparkle, demanding honesty. 

"None of them. I'm a soldier, Blair. It's what I do. Uncle Sam points me in a direction and says shoot. I do what I'm told." 

"I don't believe you," Blair replied. 

Jim touched Blair's hair. With the fire glowing in the background, his wayward unkempt curls created a halo of loose ends. Jim played with some of those strands, feeling the texture on his skin. 

"When I get home, when I get back, then I can let it go. Until then it all stays locked down, Blair. If I don't, then I can't do my job. That's the way it is. Don't think too badly of me, Blair. It's what all soldiers have to do." 

"How can I think badly of you, Jim? You saved my life." 

Blair moved closer to Jim and closed his eyes. Laying his arm over Blair's shoulder, Jim closed his own eyes; not to sleep, but to stop the tears falling. Those simple words had undone him. 

* * *

The next night, after another day of slow progress, Incacha spoke as they sat around the fire. 

"Which dead do you honor, little one?" 

Blair was obviously shocked to be included in the ceremony of the last two nights. Jim smiled, encouraging him to talk. Blair started slowly, tripping over his own words and speaking quietly. As he lost his nervousness his voice grew stronger. 

"I knew we were going the wrong way. I told Eli, but he wouldn't listen to me. He trusted our guide not to mislead us. They attacked as we were setting up camp for the night. I was off with Eli arguing about the guide. We heard the shouts and screams and I ran back to the camp. I don't think Eli followed me. I didn't know what had happened to him. As I got back to the camp I was hit on the back and went down. I tried to crawl away, but didn't get very far before I passed out. When I came to, the attackers had gathered the students together. They were separating the boys from the girls." 

Blair stopped, breathing deeply to control the impact of the memories. 

"There was nothing I could do. There were so many of them and so few of us. They made them sit in two groups, but they didn't do anything to anybody; they were all just sitting there. They must have thought I was already dead. I managed to scramble away. I decided to try and find Eli. He was where I had left him, hiding behind a tree. I tried to get him to do something to help the others. We had been together for five weeks, worked side by side all that time. They were good kids, but that's all they were, kids. Other than Eli, I was the oldest. Eli refused and ran off into the jungle. I followed him, but I was still feeling pretty groggy. I fell and hit my head. When I came to Eli had gone. I guess he must be dead." 

"I made my way back to the others. When I got there they were all dead. The girls were still staked out on the ground, the boys had all been shot. I couldn't believe it. It was like some sort of scene from hell. I felt sick. Some of the rebels must have still been around. I heard them coming back. I ran away." 

Blair stopped. He looked ashamed. 

"You couldn't have done anything else. You would have been shot too," Jim told him. 

"They were all so young. They shouldn't have died like that." 

Jim agreed. "No they shouldn't." 

There was silence around the camp fire. 

"They weren't warriors or soldiers who fought bravely, they were just kids in the wrong place at the wrong time and they paid the price." 

Jim wondered if Blair were talking more about himself. 

"No life is without merit, little one, however hard we must look to find the good in it, but the death of innocents is blood on all our hands," Incacha said solemnly. 

Blair stared hard at Incacha, his eyes wide. Jim had never seen him look so fragile. No more was spoken that night, but Blair slept slightly removed from Jim. The sentinel was not happy. He cursed Incacha as he slept out of the reach of his guide. 

They arrived back at the Chopec village late the next afternoon. The whole village rushed out to meet them, greeting loved ones, taking over the care of injured warriors or to be greeted by the news of a loved one lost in battle. Blair went straight to his hut. Jim wanted to follow him, but had to go with Muyuna, Yarapa and Incacha to report to Apurimac and the council elders. It was several hours later when he got back to Blair. Quietly entering the hut, he found Blair asleep. Spreading his own blanket on the ground he curled up to sleep at his guide's feet. 

* * *

Blair woke the next morning feeling well-rested. He stretched, feeling his spine crack. He was dirty, dusty and he smelled. He was also hungry. Deciding that being clean was a greater priority than being fed, Blair decided to go to the waterfall. He could wash himself clean in the cold, clear waters. 

He was surprised at how easy it was to pass the spot where Ullasku had claimed him. He didn't shy away in fear or feel guilty. He wasn't sure which emotion would waylay him, but he had expected one or the other. 

The water was icy cold, but he took a deep breath and plunged head first towards the middle of the pool. Under the water he kicked out with his legs and pushed his hands out in front of him, propelling himself along. Eventually he was forced to surface. Breathing deeply as he broke the surface, he heard the waterfall behind him. Turning lazily on to his back he swept his arms back; with in three strokes, he was amongst the teeming water. As the torrent pushed him down he could have sworn that he could feel the dirt that had stained him for so many days being driven from his skin. He felt rejuvenated, reborn. Eventually the cold was too much, and he was forced away from the waterfall. He swam lazily towards the edges of the pool and was pleasantly surprised at the warmth of the sun on his back and the changes in the water temperature the closer he got to the bank; the water felt positively balmy by comparison to the cold at the heart of the pool. He lay on his back, floating. He could see the blue sky through the canopy. Closing his eyes he relaxed for what he reckoned must be the first time in months. The water blocked the sounds of the jungle from his ears and his eyelids kept out the sights; he was alone in his own world. It was bliss. 

He felt the disturbance like a ripple across the pool. It started out small, but got larger as it stretched towards him. Dropping his legs, opening his eyes and treading water in an upright position, he squinted against the sun. Jim was standing on the bank, smiling at him. 

"Can I join you?" Jim asked. 

Blair nodded his assent. It wasn't that he couldn't speak, but he was scared that if he opened his mouth he would have said no. Reason might overcome emotion, and right now he really wanted emotion to win out. Jim slowly stripped off all his clothes. Blair's mouth was dry as he saw the body of his sentinel exposed for the first time. 

He could tell Jim must have spent quite a lot of time naked or semi-naked. His chest was a golden brown from the sun, his arms and face darker. There was no hair on his chest. Blair was surprised at that; he had just assumed that a big buff soldier would have a hairy chest. He did, and he wasn't big, buff or a soldier. The lack of hair made Jim more attractive, Blair decided. It lent him strength, not that he needed it, but somehow it also made him more vulnerable. 

Jim's legs were long, deeply-muscled and hairy. Blair smiled at the incongruity. He had somehow managed to go from chest to legs, passing over the part in between. Now, following those long legs up, he could not help but be drawn to Jim's groin. The man was hairy there, too, and pretty well-endowed. Blair turned away blushing. He was embarrassed for looking, and disgusted that he could even contemplate another man that way so soon after what had happened to him. Jim stepped into the water and Blair moved back, maintaining the distance. Jim stopped. 

"Are you okay with this?" he asked. 

"I'm not sure," Blair replied, surprised at his own honesty. 

Jim sat down at the edge of the pool, nonchalantly putting his hands between his legs. Blair wondered if he was doing that for his own benefit or Blair's. 

"Incacha sent me to get you. You have a naming ceremony to attend," Jim told him. 

"Why?" Blair asked. 

Blair knew what a naming ceremony was; he just wasn't too sure why he was going to be expected to go through one. Every member of the tribe was given a name at birth by their family, much as in the civilized world, but when that child reached a certain age they were given a name by the tribe. The ceremony was usually around twelve or thirteen for a girl, shortly before she married, and a little older for a boy, just before he made the transition into manhood. This name, like Jim's 'Enqueri', could be used by the individual in place of his birth name if he wanted. Normally the individual kept his birth name, which was used by family, and his given name was used by the others of the tribe, nonfamily members. 

"I'm just the messenger here," Jim explained. 

Blair moved towards Jim and found his feet touching the bottom. He took a few steps forward until the water was at his waist. 

"What happens at this naming ceremony?" 

Blair studies had taught him that each tribe had its own variation on a theme, some more robust and challenging than others. He was not up to walking across hot coals or any other sort of physically-demanding challenges. 

"There is a physical cleansing, then a spiritual cleansing and then you get your name." 

That didn't sound too tough to Blair. 

"Well I'm pretty clean already." 

Jim blushed. Blair noticed the man's embarrassment. 

"What?" he asked. 

Jim cleared his throat. "Normally the closest family member performs the physical cleansing; for a daughter, the mother, for a son, the father." 

"I don't know who my father is and Naomi could be anywhere," Blair answered and stopped. Thoughts of his mother were painful; they reminded him of home and what he had lost. There had been times when he had thought he would never see Naomi again, times when he would rather have died than contemplate what had been taken from him. Now that had all changed, though he wasn't sure how easy it would be to face Naomi after what had happened. 

"Blair, what's wrong?" Jim had a puzzled look on his face and Blair realized he had lost himself in his thoughts. 

"Nothing," Blair lied, still not one hundred per cent comfortable with whatever relationship he had with Ellison. "I was just wondering ..." He stumbled to a halt again "Maybe this naming ceremony isn't such a good idea." 

Jim's head angled slightly to one side as Jim looked quizzically at him. Momentarily Blair was overwhelmed. Emotions rushed at him from all sides and he was standing naked in a cold pool of water. 

"I need you to leave please," Blair said as he fought to take control. 

Jim stood. Blair could see the sadness in Jim's face and turned away, unable to handle anyone else's emotions. He couldn't handle his own. Breathing deeply, Blair waited for Jim to leave. He needed to get out of the water and put on his clothes. May be then he would feel more in control, somehow safer, a little less unraveled. 

The hand on his shoulder startled him. As he took a step forward, away from the touch, he stumbled, losing his footing. The hand on his shoulder grabbed his arm and steadied him. 

"Careful, Chief," Jim said quietly. 

"I can't do this," Blair managed to whisper. 

Two hands now caressed his shoulders, stroking slowly. Blair craved the warm touch and then hated himself in the same instant. He tensed. The hands left his shoulders, but Blair could still feel Jim at his back. 

"Blair I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to. When you are ready to leave, if you don't want to be my guide, then I'll still take you to the nearest trading post and you can go," Jim insisted. 

"I thought you wanted me to be your guide?" 

Blair didn't understand what was happening. He felt like a child being given the best Christmas present under the tree, all bright red wrapping and gold ribbons, only to be told he couldn't open it. 

"I do." Jim spoke with such intensity that Blair turned to face him. "But more than that, I want you to want to be my guide. It's not going to work, Blair, if you don't want it as much as I do. I know that now. It's a partnership, Chief." Jim's hands gripped his arms again. "You need to choose for yourself. You've had enough of being told what to do." 

Blair shuddered at the words and looked down. The water had suddenly become very cold and he shivered. 

"If we are going to do this cleansing thing, then we better get on with it before you end up like a prune." 

Blair looked up into Jim's blue eyes and saw the smile in them. 

"I think I'm old enough to wash myself," Blair retorted in an attempt at humor to cover the awkwardness of the moment. 

"I told you, Chief." Jim chuckled. "This has to be done by someone else." 

"The person closest to me," Blair said remembering Jim's words from earlier. He thought he heard Jim say 'yes', but he was still staring at Jim's eyes and couldn't be sure his lips had moved. 

"Move a little closer to the bank," Jim urged him. 

Blair allowed Jim to take his hand and lead him. On the bank next to Jim's clothes was a bar of soap. 

"Is that what I think it is?" Blair asked in wonder. 

"My last one. I was saving it for a special occasion," Jim told him. "This will do," he smiled. "Turn round." 

Blair did as he was told, but still checked over his shoulder to see Jim work the soap into a lather. 

"Oh my God, real soap. I can't believe it." 

"Believe it, Junior." 

Jim washed Blair's back. He was efficient and thorough and, as Blair relaxed into the feel of real soap on his skin, he wished that Jim's hands would linger a little longer, be more of a caress than quite so practical. 

"Turn around," Jim told him in a husky voice. 

As Blair turned he could see the flush on Jim's skin. There was a look of tight concentration on his face and Blair realized that Jim was working hard at controlling himself. Jim's nipples were hard and, as Blair glanced down, he could see Jim's erect cock. For a second Blair wanted to reach out and touch Jim's chest, but he bit his lip and held back. 

The washing of his front was as methodical, but gentle as the washing of his back had been. When Jim had finished he stopped, as though he didn't know what to do. 

"What next?" asked Blair. 

Jim swallowed. "Your hair," he managed to get out. 

Blair turned his back to Jim again. Jim placed an arm around Blair's waist. 

"Lie back. Put your head under the water." 

Blair looked into Jim's calm face and saw the plea in his eyes: trust me. Blair returned Jim's gaze. I need to choose, he told himself and suddenly there was no choice to make; he let Jim guide him down into the water. Blair felt safe; not for a minute did he wonder if Jim would drop him or let him fall. As he leaned his head back, Blair smiled at Jim and saw the answering smile that took Blair's gesture and held it tightly, cherishing it. Blair closed his eyes and let Jim dip his head under the water, wetting his hair and his head. Breaking the surface of the water on the way back up, Blair was momentarily blinded by the light reflecting off the water. Jim's head blocked out the sun and took the glare away. Holding Blair in his arms, he brushed his lips against Blair's in the gentlest of touches. 

"Thank you," Jim whispered. 

They didn't speak again as Jim finished washing Blair's hair and then rinsed the suds away. When he was done, Jim stepped up onto the bank and reached a hand down to Blair. 

"Come on, prune boy. Incacha is waiting." 

Jim threw Blair a long white cloth and held up a plain leather loin cloth. 

"Your ceremonial robes await," Jim laughed. 

"You're kidding!" Blair declared. 

Jim shook his head. "It was made by Apurimac's wife, herself." 

"Then I had better wear it," Blair said reluctantly. 

"It will look good on you," Jim told him. 

Blair raised an eyebrow in mock indignation. Jim laughed again and Blair decided he liked the sound. Properly dried off, Blair tied on the loin cloth. He felt decidedly underdressed. Dragging his fingers through his thoroughly tangled hair, Blair cursed at the mess caused by so many weeks of nonexistent care. 

"Here, let me," Jim offered and produced a crudely-fashioned pick. "I made it for you," he explained unnecessarily; he himself had barely enough hair for a comb, let alone a pick. 

Slowly Jim worked the pick through Blair's hair, teasing the tangles. One was too tough, even for his patient fingers, and Blair nodded warily when Jim told him that he would have to cut it out. 

"Don't worry, Chief. I'll be careful," Jim reassured him. 

"I know," Blair told him, steadfastly. 

When the hair was finally disentangled and in more order than it had been for over three months, Jim once again took Blair's hand. He led Blair to Incacha's hut and pushed him gently inside. 

"I'll wait here for you," he told a slightly reluctant Blair. 

Inside the hut Incacha waited. "Welcome, little one," he greeted Blair. 

* * *

Jim stood guard outside the hut. He knew what was happening inside; he had been through it himself shortly after his arrival with the Chopec. He knew Blair would be meditating soon, sitting cross-legged facing the Chopec shaman, breathing deeply of the strange exotic smells that swirled around their heads. He smiled to himself, remembering his own reluctance to take part in the ceremony. Somehow, despite Blair's protests, Jim believed he would take to the whole process a lot more comfortably than he had done. 

Blair's earlier lack of enthusiasm, followed by such a rapid change of heart had Jim slightly worried, but he was pretty much convinced that, when it came down to it, Blair would stay with him. Jim pushed the doubts away. There was something about the younger man that gave him hope; no, more than hope, reassurance. Making an educated guess at what the young man had been through in the past three months, Jim would not be surprised if he wanted to run as far and as fast as he could to get away from the jungle. But strangely, he wasn't worried. Deep inside, Jim was calm; it would be alright. Smiling slightly, he settled into an at ease stance and relaxed; he was happy, for now. 

* * *

That the young guide was nervous, thought Incacha, was to be expected, but he had been prepared well and now came almost willingly to the hardest part of the naming ceremony. Blair sat cross-legged opposite Incacha, his eyes closed, his breathing calm, but not yet deep enough to indicate the meditative state that Incacha wanted and the ceremony demanded. Waiting in silence, Incacha checked once again that all the items he required were present in front of him. Copal incense was already burning, creating a heady, thick air in the hut. Blood from the newly slaughtered goat cooled in a large bowl, while smaller bowls that held various powders and offerings were laid next to it. Patiently, Incacha sat. His own mind was confident of the young guide's chosen name, but the guide would have to find his own way there; with Incacha's help of course. A sigh disturbed his reverie. His charge still had his eyes closed, but he squirmed uncomfortably. 

"What is it, little one?" Incacha asked. 

"I can't do it. I can't settle enough to meditate," Blair explained. 

"Have you cleared your mind?" 

"Yes," Blair muttered, obviously unhappy. 

"What disturbs your thoughts?" 

There was no answer to his question. Incacha waited. 

"When I close my eyes I see faces," came the eventual reply. 

"Do you see the face of your tormentor or the face of your sentinel?" 

"Both ... and I see the other faces; my friends, the other students, Eli." Blair stopped. 

"You must let go of the faces, little one. They cannot hurt you, they will not hurt you." 

"I'm trying. It's just not easy, you know?" 

Blair finally opened his eyes. Incacha smiled reassuringly at him. 

"I do know, young guide. Many struggle with their vision quests, some struggle for many years. Ease comes with age and experience," Incacha told him with humor. "I can help you, Blair Sandburg." 

"With some of these?" Blair indicated the various items between them. "Is that blood?" Blair gulped. 

"No and yes," Incacha replied. "Only an experienced shaman should use that sort of help. I can help you in other ways. Have you meditated before?" 

"Once or twice," Blair chuckled. 

A raised eyebrow from Incacha stopped his amusement. 

"Settle yourself, little one. Close your eyes and breathe slowly. Listen to my voice." 

Incacha chanted. It was a simple rhythm often used with the young who showed potential as budding shamans. The beat was almost hypnotic. Of course it helped that Incacha was adept at leading the unknowing. He had done it many times before. He could feel the young man relax, listened as he calmed and settled. 

Once he knew the young man was ready, he changed the words and the tempo. A small amount of powder sprinkled into one of the incense burners changed the scents in the hut into a spicy citrus aroma and then the chant changed again, leading Blair along rocky paths through barren landscapes. A different powder, a different burner and the air in the hut became heavy with a thick floral scent, choking in its intensity, and the landscape that Incacha was leading Blair through changed to jungle, a strange blue jungle. 

"We are here, little one," Incacha announced. 

Blair stared around him. "I thought vision quests were supposed to be taken alone," he said as his eyes wandered, taking it all in. 

Incacha stood behind the young man and slightly to one side. He shrugged his shoulders. "The spirits always pay their debts," Incacha replied, purposefully cryptic. 

Blair looked over his shoulder at Incacha, who assumed his most inscrutable look and returned the stare. 

"Go on, little one. Walk the path," Incacha encouraged. 

Incacha watched as Blair cautiously followed the path between the trees. Once he was out of sight, Incacha made a small gesture with his hand and his human form shimmered as he changed into a large, feathery owl with pointed ears. Shaking out his wings, he took to the air and flew through the jungle canopy to a small clearing. He settled high in the branches of a banana tree. Below him in the clearing, the wolf paced nervously. The large owl ears could hear Blair as he made his way along the path. Incacha smiled; sometimes it paid to let the spirits owe you one. The wolf stopped pacing and ran into hiding. 

Seconds later, Blair nervously stepped into the clearing looking around warily. He sniffed the air and proceeded across the opening. Halfway across he stopped, looking left and right. The wolf chose that moment to make itself known. 

"Whoa!" Blair backed up, moving away from the wolf as soon as he could. "Good doggy. Stay. Sit. Stay." 

The wolf did indeed stop. Incacha smiled and settled comfortably to watch the scene below him play out. The wolf cocked his head to one side and stared at Blair. It was a standoff. Blair broke the impasse by shuffling around the edge of the clearing muttering to the wolf the entire time. 

"Good boy. Just stay there. Good doggy." 

He repeated the same words and similar ones over and over again as he slowly made it to the other side of the clearing. Taking one last look back to ensure the wolf was still stationery, Blair bolted down the path as though the hounds of hell were on his tail. 

Incacha waited until the wolf followed Blair and then flew ahead. The branches of the trees hid the path where the wolf caught up with the young guide, and Incacha had to risk settling low to the ground to see the next encounter. Blair had slowed to a fast walk, checking behind him regularly. It was not enough. The wolf caught up with him easily and pounced, knocking him to his knees and then again so that he was face down on the ground. Blair put his hands over the back of his head and tried to squash himself up into the smallest possible shape he could. The wolf licked his back; once, twice. 

"Hey, that tickles." Blair's muffled voice came out from beneath the two of them. The wolf licked him again and then nudged his hands. A second nudge brought a further response. "Okay, okay, I get the message." 

Slowly Blair uncurled and then turned until he was face to face with the wolf. The wolf licked his face and then his chest. 

"You're not related to Ellison are you?" he asked. "I've already had one bath today, thank you." 

The wolf stepped off Blair, allowing the young man to sit up. Human and animal watched each other carefully. Slowly Blair reached out and scratched the top of the wolf's head. A large pink tongue slipped out of the side of the wolf's mouth, and its eyes closed lazily. 

"You like that, don't you, wolfie? Good boy. Yeah, good boy." 

The wolf stood suddenly and Blair jumped back, obviously still a little unsure of his safety with the creature. It continued down the path, in the direction Blair had been traveling. Blair sighed and followed the wolf. 

The two companions walked on. Occasionally the wolf would lope ahead, then stop and wait for Blair to catch up. The wolf allowed Blair to scratch its head from time to time, but then got bored and walked on. Blair followed, obviously content to let the wolf set the pace and lead. 

Incacha watched all this from his lofty position, slowly following in long lazy circles, interspersed with respite moments, talons affixed to high branches. He was patient, but waited eagerly for the approaching finale. 

"Okay, wolfie, is this going somewhere? We must have been walking for hours and I'm hot, dirty, tired and thirsty." Blair broke the silence. "Hey, don't ignore me. I'm talking to you," he said with a raised voice as the wolf failed to react to his words. "This has to have a point. How long are we going to be tramping though this jungle? Are we going somewhere specific? An answer would be ..." Blair stopped. "Wow!" 

In the blink of an eye the jungle had disappeared and Blair and the wolf were in a vast sandy desert. Dune after dune surrounded them with no relief from the burning sun. Blair looked up and squinted to get a better look at the large bird flying high overhead. 

"Ouch!" he cried out lifting first one foot and then the other. "Hot, hot, hot." His feet danced an unintentional jig to cool them from contact with the sand. "This is not good, wolf. I'm only wearing a loincloth here. Hey, wait up!" 

The wolf was about to disappear over the top of a sand dune. Blair ran to keep up with the animal, his hair flowing out behind him. The sand dune came to an abrupt end and Blair tumbled head over heels down the other side, coming to a halt in a flurry of arms and legs. 

"Ouch again," declared Blair, slowly disentangling himself from the thorny branches of the small bush that had ended his descent. He sat up and looked at the bush, amazement on his face. Incacha took the opportunity to land deftly on the top of the bush, piercing Blair with a stern yellow-eyed glare and hooting warningly. Blair stood and brushed greenery from his body. 

"First wolves, now owls?" he muttered. 

Incacha hooted again and took off back into the air. 

"Okay, officially very weird," Blair said to himself as he turned to look about. He was in a forest, not unlike the forests of the Cascade Mountains of Washington State. "Are we there yet, wolf?" he asked with a wistful look on his face. 

Not far from where Blair had come to a halt a fast flowing river plummeted about thirty feet as the earth fell away, creating a natural waterfall with deep limpid pools of water catching the river as it tumbled over the rocks. Incacha settled himself on a rocky outcropping close to where he knew the wolf would lead the young man. Supremely confident of the outcome of this vision quest, he waited. It would not be long now. 

As if on cue, Blair and the wolf appeared below him. Blair stopped short of the edge of the cliff and backed up a few steps. The wolf turned to look at him. 

"Where to now, wolf?" he asked, the confusion evident in his voice. 

The wolf morphed so that it stood on its hind legs. 

"Neat trick," Blair uttered under his breath. 

Incacha smiled in a way only owls can. 

The wolf spoke. "You must choose." His voice was dark and thick. 

"Choose what?" 

Incacha could have sworn he heard the wolf 'tsk' in mild annoyance. 

"The way forward," the wolf said slowly. 

"And the choices would be?" Blair asked. 

Incacha heard the strength in Blair's voice; he wasn't overawed by the strange upright talking creature. The wolf growled low in its throat; a threat, a warning. Blair put his hands on his hips. 

"Look I've followed you all this way without one word of complaint, well okay, maybe a couple, but I've followed you, which is the important point and now you stand there telling me to choose. At least tell me what the choices are. I'm not psychic, you know." 

Incacha recognized the stubbornness in the young man's voice and chuffed a laugh. The wolf snapped at the owl high above his head and left its teeth bared. Incacha swiveled his owl head and peered imperiously at the wolf below. 

"You must choose to go forward as a guide to your sentinel or to go forward alone. There are no other choices." 

In the strange silent land that the human, the owl and the wolf inhabited, the words echoed dully. Blair stared at the wolf. Slowly Blair sat down on the hard ground and looked up at the wolf. 

"That's easy," he smiled. "I've already made my choice." 

* * *

Blair swayed and felt nauseous. There was a strong hand on his chest holding him up. "Oh God, I feel sick," he said hanging his head. 

The hand on his chest pulled back and Blair found that, despite the nausea, he was going to stay upright. Surprisingly, he also found he wasn't going to be sick. Another surprise was the hand. It was red, very red. The whole of the palm of the hand and the fingers were stained red. Blair wrinkled his nose and recognized the smell ... of ... His mind clicked into gear. Blood. He scrambled back away from the blood-stained appendage and came to his hands and knees, which was just as well as his stomach decided that the smell of the blood and the sudden movement were just a little too much and he vomited. The bloody hand gripped his forearm. 

"It is alright, little one. Many have the same reaction to their first vision quest." 

"Incacha?" Blair mumbled between spitting. 

"Drink this," the voice told Blair, and he did as he was told, as the hand moved from his forearm to his upper arm, gripping tightly. 

Blair stopped drinking and blinked away his grogginess. 

"That's better, thanks." 

"You must stand, little one." 

Blair followed the voice and stood, albeit on admittedly shaky legs. Incacha stood in front of him holding out a bowl. 

"What's that?" Blair immediately asked. 

He knew his stomach couldn't take anything without a repeat performance of his earlier regurgitation. 

Incacha laughed. "I must finish your marking." 

He moved to Blair's right and slowly, using his finger, marked two horizontal black lines separated by a circle of black dots on Blair's right upper arm. 

"What does that signify?" 

"It is the marking of your sentinel," Incacha explained. 

"My sentinel?" Blair gulped. 

"He awaits you outside. He wears your mark." 

"My mark?" Blair knew he must sound stupid repeating Incacha's words, but he needed time to catch up with what was happening. 

"Watch, little one," Incacha told him. 

Slowly, in front of Blair's eyes, Incacha changed until it was like looking in a mirror. Blair saw himself, dressed only in a loin cloth, his hair hanging loose. In the middle of his chest the imprint of a large red hand showed clearly through his chest hair. There was another imprint on his left forearm, which ran across the arm. Another appeared on his upper arm, the fingers reaching the shoulder. The worst imprint though, was on his face. The fingers reached his hairline and the bottom of the palm touched his chin. The fingers were spread wide, the thumb stretching across his cheek pointing towards his ear. As he stood looking in stunned, horrified silence at the disfiguring marks, his mind rushed back to the moment of Ullasku's death. For a terrifying second Blair thought he was back on the ground, the weight of the man's body pressing down on his. He gasped and looked at his own right hand expecting to see and feel the warm red blood covering it. His hand was clean, but he could swear he could feel the shape of the knife in his hand and feel the dying man's breath on his cheek. 

"No!" he exclaimed and opened his hands as if to drop the knife that wasn't there, but had been so few days ago. He panted hard. Incacha returned and the horrible image was gone from in front of him. 

"Why?" He managed just the one word. 

Incacha stood silently in front of him. 

"Why would you do that to me? Those marks; the blood ... his blood." Blair knew what he wanted to say, but couldn't get the words out coherently. 

"A guide must be intelligent, patient and wise. All of these things you are, Blair Sandburg and you have proved this in your world many times over. Above all, a guide must be strong. A sentinel protects the tribe, the guide protects the sentinel. You must go where your sentinel leads and if he goes into danger so you must follow him, but there will be times when the guide must endure alone. The sentinel, for all his senses, can be blind to his guide, either though his own actions or because of his focus on the tribe. The guide endures, Blair Sandburg, and so must you. Your strength and courage are now clear for all to see, and this is as it should be." 

Blair closed his eyes and saw once again his image besmirched in blood. "I don't feel strong. I'm not courageous." 

"Exactly," Incacha smiled. 

Blair looked at the shaman, saw the smile and understood. He didn't know what to say. 

"Your sentinel awaits," Incacha told him, still smiling. 

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT - A NAME**

Blair left the hut and, as Incacha had said and as Blair had known he would be, Jim stood outside. At some point, he too had been painted. The three horizontal lines covered Jim's chest and face; a red right hand adorned the small of his back. Jim wore only a loincloth. Turning back to Incacha, Blair managed a stunned double take as the older man stood behind him also wearing a loincloth, but with face and body painted red in his own design. Blair raised an eyebrow. He felt very slightly like Alice in Wonderland and wouldn't have been at all surprised to see a large white rabbit run past, muttering about being late while staring at a pocket watch. Incacha stepped forward in front of Blair. 

"Follow, little one, but do not speak," he said and strode off. 

Momentarily startled, Blair had a sense of dj vu and saw in his mind's eye a wolf trotting away from him down a jungle path. 

"Want to get going, Junior?" Jim said behind him, chuckling. 

Blair trotted to catch up and, within a short space of time, all three entered the meeting circle. Only Apurimac and his wife were in the circle. Apurimac stood at his appointed place, his wife behind him. The three men stopped in front of Apurimac. Incacha stepped to one side, leaving Blair in the middle flanked by the shaman and the sentinel, his sentinel. 

"You come to us as Blair Sandburg of the Americans." 

Apurimac raised his hands and Blair stepped forward at a gentle nudge from Jim. 

"The Chopec welcome you, Blair Sandburg and give you a home amongst them. Here you will always be welcome and safe. You are proved a mighty warrior and a wise man. Do you name your animal spirit, Blair Sandburg?" 

Jim stepped forward and spoke. "He chooses the wolf." 

Apurimac nodded as Blair stared at Jim. 

"Do you choose your totem, Blair Sandburg?" 

This time it was Incacha who spoke for him. "He chooses the red right hand." 

Apurimac nodded again. "Do you choose your name, Blair Sandburg?" 

There was no reply. Blair looked first at Jim and then at Incacha. He glanced at Apurimac and licked his lips, anxiously. Apurimac's wife stepped forward. 

"I claim this one's name," she said. 

Apurimac stared at his wife. Blair could feel the tension between them. Looking at Jim, he was somewhat relieved when Jim remained impassive. Blair relaxed further when he saw Incacha was still smiling that annoying, all-knowing, shit-eating smile. 

"By what right?" Apurimac demanded. 

"By the right of a mother's womb, by the right of my gray hair. Would you deny me, husband?" 

Apurimac's bravado disappeared in an inkling at his wife's question. He stepped back, allowing her to take his place. The woman stood in front of Blair and raised one hand. She placed it on the top of Blair's head. 

"You came to us as Blair Sandburg, a soul lost and hurt. You will leave us as a bright shining life with a new name to be held close for you and those who love you." 

She looked at Jim, who blushed. 

"The Chopec name you, Ch'ilikuti Chiqchi Allqu." 

* * *

"What's with the little?" Blair complained. "Little one, Junior and now the Chopec call me Little Wolf." 

"Well, technically it's not wolf," Jim murmured. 

Blair stood hands on hips, staring at Jim. "I know that, but it's what she meant. If the Chopec had even seen a wolf I'm sure they'd have a word for it. But no, I get little gray dog instead." 

"I think we'll need to shorten it to Ch'ilikuti," Jim went on, ignoring Blair's protests. 

Jim and Blair were in Jim's hut. Blair had noticed that it was about half as big again as the hut he had been using until now. It was late into the night and they had left the celebrations in Blair's honor when Blair had yawned one too many times. Jim had hauled him to his feet and forcibly suggested that it might be a good time to go to bed. Blair wanted to protest, but had to admit that it had only been the sound of the drums that had kept him awake. The dancing figures and firelight had almost robbed him of his consciousness a couple of times. Bed had sounded good. 

"Does everybody think I'm some sort of child to be patronized?" 

He felt aggrieved now he was away from the celebration even though he had readily agreed to leave. 

"No," Jim answered him. "None of us think that. Some of us just think of you as ..." Jim paused obviously searching for the right words. "In need of protection." 

The grimace on his face suggested they weren't the words he wanted. 

"Protection!" Blair spat out. 

Jim sat down on his pallet. Blair remained standing. 

"Why should I need protection? I'm a killer of warriors. Don't you remember, Ellison? You were there." Blair stopped abruptly and flopped to the floor, the wind taken out of his sails. "God, I didn't mean that, Jim. I'm sorry." Sighing, Blair rubbed at his eyes. "Maybe I'm more tired than I thought." Jim didn't answer. Blair looked at him; he seemed so solid, so safe, a safe port in a storm. "This isn't just going to go away, is it?" The question was rhetorical. Blair didn't stop for an answer. "Just when I think I'm coming to terms with killing a man, I get sandbagged." 

Blair needed Jim to say something, to do something, anything to take away the nightmares that haunted his day and night. Jim seemed to consider Blair's words. He rose and brought something from the corner of the hut. 

"What are those for?" Blair looked at the two bowls and bundle of cloth in Jim's hands. 

"I thought this might help. Scoot over here." Jim told him. 

Pausing slightly at the offered spot, Blair settled himself on Jim's pallet kneeling between his legs, his right arm facing Jim. Slowly Jim wet one of the cloths and then wiped the three black marks from Blair's upper arm. With that Jim opened his legs wider. 

"Other arm, Jun ... Chief." 

He smiled at Blair, at the slip. As Blair moved around he raised an accusatory eyebrow at Jim. 

"Better," he added. 

Jim used the same cloth and wiped the first of the four handprints from Blair's skin. Blair started to relax as Jim continued by washing off the handprint from his forearm. The feel of Jim's hands on his body was not as unsettling as Blair had thought it might be. In fact it calmed his angry thoughts. For a large man whose hands were more used to killing than being gentle, he was just that, thought Blair, gentle. The blood had hardened but, although Jim had to work hard to get it off, his touch was never harsh. By the time Jim had finished with his arm the cloth was stained with blood and paint and the water in one bowl was a muddy color. 

"Just as well I came prepared," Jim joked nervously. Blair looked at Jim; unsure about what was being done that could make this man nervous. "You need to turn to face me, Chief." 

Blair could hear the catch in Jim's voice and, as he turned to face him, he looked hard at the man before him. Jim looked slightly sweaty and almost uncomfortable. For some reason Blair couldn't fathom, Jim was avoiding direct eye contact with Blair. A clean cloth was dropped in the second bowl of water and Jim's strong hands pushed it under the water and then wrung it dry. Blair couldn't stop watching Jim's hands; it was as though they moved in slow motion. The cloth was brought to his chest; Jim held it close to Blair's skin. 

"Blair?" Blue eyes met blue eyes and Blair saw that gentleness translated into a look. Blair's thoughts whirled. He understood, now, what was causing Jim's nervousness. He swallowed hard. "Blair, are you okay?" There was concern in those eyes now and want, Jim's need for him. 

Blair nodded. "I'm fine," he managed, though he wasn't sure how. 

Jim still hesitated and Blair realized that Jim needed more than permission. The removal of the bloody hands had become as much a ceremony as the placing of them by Incacha had been. Jim needed an acceptance by Blair of what this act was about to represent. Blair knew this, just as he knew that this decision had already been made. Jim was his sentinel and Blair was his guide, but that wasn't enough. Jim wanted Blair as a guide, he had asked Blair enough times, but he also wanted Blair as a man. Blair couldn't believe he could sense all that from such little contact with a man he hardly knew. 

_You know him, little one, and he knows you. You have known each other across time and space, generation after generation. Do not be afraid._

Blair could hear Incacha's voice and the image of a black panther and a large gray wolf curled around each other flitted through his mind. Blair wondered if he was afraid, too afraid for this to work between them. He realized it had to be more than sentinel and guide if it was going to work. That might get the ball rolling, but it couldn't hold everything together. For that Blair needed more, just as Jim wanted more. Jim's look promised everything Blair wanted, but the bottom line was, was this what Blair wanted? A voice immediately shouted 'yes' in his head, but as that word echoed, another asked 'are you sure?' Blair looked deep into Jim's eyes. He found only reassurance, safety, comfort and love. 'Can you do this?' the doubtful voice asked, 'Can you give yourself to this man after what HE did to you?' The voice didn't mean Jim. 'Maybe not now, but you will,' the confident voice rejoined. 'HE will wait for you; give you the time you need.' This time the 'HE' was indeed Jim. 

"Its okay, Jim. Go ahead." Blair spoke softly, a little surprised that the decision had come so easily, but then not so surprised. The choice was made, wasn't it, he thought. 'Yes,' said the confident voice. 'Always,' said the doubtful voice. 

Jim's touch calmed Blair, soothed any lingering doubts as surely as it wiped away the blood. The imprint of one finger had covered a nipple and, as Jim rubbed the cloth over that spot, Blair breathed in deeply. The washing became a caress, sensuous and promising. Jim lingered, the cloth teasing Blair's skin until the nipple stood hard and erect. Jim removed the cloth and gently stroked the other nipple. 

"There's no blood there," Blair whispered. 

"I know," Jim replied, not looking at Blair. 

"Oh." 

Blair couldn't think of anything else to say. In no time both nipples were hard and Blair found his mouth was open and that he was pulling in quiet pants of air. The cloth dropped lower. The bottom of the palm print had reached the skin covering his diaphragm. Jim's touch excited him, and Blair could feel the muscles under his skin react; it was like goose bumps. Blair's pulse raced and he felt dizzy. He placed a steadying hand on Jim's arm and sucked in a long stuttering breath. The feel of his hand on Jim's skin was almost electric in its intensity. 

"Jim," he whispered, asking for help in understanding what was happening. 

The cloth brushed his lips. 

"Shhhh," Jim urged. 

Blair looked down. The bloody hand on his chest had gone. Jim was wiping the dried blood from his face. The cloth moved to his cheek, first one then the other. 

"Close your eyes, Blair," Jim told him. 

Blair didn't want to. A sudden fear clutched his heart that if he closed his eyes, when he opened them Jim would be gone. 

"It's okay. I'll still be here. I won't leave you, Blair." 

"Promise?" The question was unsteady. 

Jim leaned forward and kissed the tip of Blair's nose. "Promise." 

It still took more effort than Blair expected to cut himself off from the gaze of those blue eyes. As if to compensate for the loss of one sense, Jim moved closer to Blair and Blair could feel Jim's breath on his face. It was a caress gentler than cloth, more exciting than Jim's fingers and more full of promise than the kiss. Blair breathed deep. He wanted to taste Jim's breath, suck it all in, let it fill him up. The cloth moved away from his skin and Blair felt the loss acutely. He opened his eyes. 

"All done?" he asked, breathlessly. 

"Almost." 

Blair followed Jim's lips as they fell towards him. The lips parted and Jim's tongue eased between white teeth. At the last moment Jim seemed to veer to the left. Blair's vision blurred as the object of his fixation moved. Jim's tongue lapped at the corner of Blair's mouth; once, twice, three times. The tongue pulled away and Blair groaned at its loss. 

"I missed a spot," Jim explained, shyly. 

Blair thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. "Kiss me," he ordered gently. 

Jim did as he was told. Lips and tongues met. Tastes flowed from one man to the other and Jim parted his lips. Blair pushed forward, gaining entrance to Jim's mouth. It was so sweet, but so strong, like honey and whiskey, Blair thought, as his tongue tingled. Jim brought up his hands to cup either side of Blair's head. Changing the angle of his head, Jim ravaged Blair's mouth. Blair was pulled into the torrent. Grabbing hold of Jim's arms, he allowed himself to be swept along, relishing the journey, delighting in the adventure. When it came to a sudden halt Blair felt adrift, his eyes closed, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. 

Somehow Jim turned Blair so that his back lay on Jim's chest. Jim's hands were splayed across Blair's stomach, gently stretching, feeling, touching. Blair leaned back, his legs parallel to Jim's. The hands on Blair's stomach moved slowly across his skin, teasing, toying, arousing. Blair's hands rested on Jim's thighs and he rubbed his palms across soft, dark hair, moving in lazy circles. Jim brought his knees up and Blair's fingers climbed the hill to Jim's knees and carried on as far down the other side as he could reach. It felt so good to be this safe, to feel so wanted, to feel so loved. A tongue lapped at his ear. Blair shivered. Teeth nipped and his earlobe was suckled. 

"Jim," he moaned. 

The sucking stopped. "Do you want me to stop, Blair?" Jim asked. 

"No," Blair replied honestly, "but I'm not sure how much I can join in." His voice tapered off. 

"Let me worry about that, okay?" Jim offered. 

"Okay." 

Blair's hands moved to the ties at his hips that held the loincloth in place. 

"Let me do that," said Jim. 

"No," Blair explained. "I want to do it for you. For me." 

From his semi-reclined position it was easy for Blair to undo the knots at both sides but, having done that, the soft leather did not fall gracefully away to reveal his family jewels in all their glory. When Blair went to pull the material away, Jim stayed his hand. 

"Wait." 

Jim's hands returned to Blair's chest, roaming over every inch of skin. Blair reveled in each and every touch until he felt completely debauched from every grip on his hips to every stroke of his hair to every tweak on his nipples to every circle drawn on his stomach. When Jim added his tongue and teeth to Blair's ears and those parts of Blair's neck that he could reach without disturbing either of them too much, Blair's back arched and he felt the first stirrings in his groin. 

Blair's one fear was that he wouldn't be able to get aroused regardless of what Jim did. He wanted to be turned on by Jim, he wanted Jim to make him come, and so far so good. Now, he needed this; needed the touch of hands and lips and teeth to mean something totally opposite to hate and pain. He heard Jim take a deep breath, the man's nose in his hair. 

"You smell so good," Jim murmured. 

Taking Jim's hand Blair led it to his loincloth and underneath. He was still limp, despite Jim's attentions so far. Jim took the hint and his hand cradled Blair's cock. Holding his breath, awaiting a reaction, Blair tensed. 

"Relax," Jim told him. 

Blair laughed nervously at being found out. "Just a touch of stage fright." Blair's voice sounded slightly squeaky to his own ears. 

"Close your eyes." 

Blair could feel Jim's lips as he spoke against his ear. "And think of England?" he asked chuckling. 

"If it helps, Chief. Sounds a bit kinky to me though." 

While the conversation was taking place Jim had continued his fondling of Blair. His cock was stroked with Jim's thumb, while Jim's fingers rolled his balls. 

"Feels good, Jim." 

Jim's fingers moved gently to caress the spot behind Blair's balls. The stimulation had the desired effect as Blair's cock started to take an interest in proceedings. Jim's fingers stroked and circled, deepening the massage, alternating the touch as Blair squirmed to feel more. Jim moved his hands to Blair's cock as Blair bemoaned the loss of contact. Taking the semi-hard cock in the embrace of his hand, Jim gently squeezed. 

"Does it still feel good, Blair?" Jim asked seductively. 

Blair's hands were pressing hard on Jim's thighs. He was trying to push himself up into Jim's clever hands as they continued to pump his cock. Blair wanted more. As his gut told his groin that something was happening, he wanted to rush headlong to orgasm. He feared losing the momentum that was building, was scared that if this didn't happen at breakneck speed, if it faltered, then the chance would be lost and not just for tonight. His fear washed through him. 

"More, Jim. More, harder, please," he urged. 

"Where's the fire, Chief? Enjoy it." Jim encouraged him to slow down. 

"No," Blair gritted his teeth. "You don't understand. I need this now. Please." He knew he sounded desperate, as though he was begging. Jim's hand slowed. "No!" shouted Blair and he grabbed at Jim's hand, using his own to make Jim fondle him harder and faster. 

"Blair." Jim tried to pull his hand away, but Blair's strength stopped him. 

Blair could feel it now, building. He was so close, he had to keep going. "Please, Jim," he begged again. 

Blair didn't know how, but somehow Jim was starting to understand his need. 

"Let me," he whispered in Blair's ear. 

As Blair took his hand away and put it back on Jim's thigh, he sobbed in delight. 

"Jim. Oh God, I'm gonna ..." 

The sentence was never finished as Blair erupted over Jim's hand and his own belly, creamy seed marking both men. Blair's breathing deepened and he watched as Jim wiped his fingers in his cum and then took his hand to his own mouth and licked it clean. 

"You taste good, Blair," he said as his hand headed for a repeat trip. Blair couldn't speak; the sight of this man cleaning his cum and then tasting it was too much. He waited until Jim had finished. 

"Thank you," Blair said as he kissed the palm of Jim's hand. When there was no response from Jim he felt the need to explain. "I'm sorry I had to ..." 

"Don't," Jim interrupted him. "Whatever you need, Blair, whatever you want, there's no need to explain." 

Blair lay back, tired beyond reason, wired beyond words. Jim's arms encircled him, holding him tight. 

"Go to sleep, Blair. I'll watch over you." 

He wanted to sleep, wanted to wake up in Jim's arms, but he couldn't. Blair snuggled further into Jim's embrace. 

"It's okay," he murmured. "I'll watch with you." 

* * *

**Epilogue**

(Three months later) 

Jim had known as soon as soon as the soldiers had entered the Pass. With his guide by his side, Jim's senses had gone off the scale these past few months. He could see farther, hear farther, smell more, feel more and taste more; all of which had come in exceptionally handy when he turned those senses on his guide, even when they weren't making love, Jim admitted to himself. 

At first he had thought they were rebels attacking again, but it took only a few seconds to pinpoint the make of helicopter and Jim was immediately aware that this was something different. The small group of warriors who were with him was quickly directed into position as Jim listened to the soldiers jumping from the chopper. Turning back to his guide, Jim stroked his cheek and smiled. 

"They're American," he said. 

The two men ran through the jungle. Jim was proud of the fact that Blair was almost as good as the Chopec warriors at moving swiftly and silently through the trees. By the time they arrived at the site of the downed Huey and its seven graves, the soldiers had started digging. Arrows flew, thudding into the ground and a tree by one of the soldiers. 

"What the hell?" Jim grunted in dissatisfaction. 

There had been so little trouble lately with the rebels that he knew some of the younger warriors were anxious to prove themselves, almost trigger-happy. Bullets and arrows traded fire. Jim ducked, knowing Blair had sunk to the ground a split second after he had. 

Jim turned back to Blair. "Stay here, Chief. I'm going down. I think they need to see a friendly face." 

Jim could see that Blair had been about to object and smiled when his guide nodded in agreement. 

"Be careful," Blair warned him. 

"Always," Jim agreed. 

The soldier in charge ordered a cease fire. The Chopec moved forward at the signal from their sentinel. Jim, wearing his camo pants and bandana, came forward, shouldering his rifle he walked down the hillside. He had already read the lead soldier's insignia, and knew they were Rangers. Jim held out his hand, seeing the look of surprise on the Captain's face. 

"Captain James Ellison. ODA seven-three-one. You my relief?" 

"Your relief?" Mathis queried. 

"We were ordered to contact the local tribes and organize militia. These men and I have held the Chopec Pass for eighteen months and quite frankly, Captain, I'm kind of tired." 

Jim heard Blair's whoop of joy and the words he spoke only for his sentinel. 

"We're going home, Jim. We're really going home." 

Looking up the hill to where only he could see his guide, Jim smiled to himself. The whoop had disturbed a flock of birds nesting above his guide's head. 

"Sandburg," he said under his breath in amused annoyance. 

Jim knew Mathis had followed his look, but could not see or hear anything yet. As Jim looked back to Mathis the flock of birds went by. Jim smiled to himself. They were finally going home. 

The End. 

* * *

End 

Red Right Hand by Rae: rae2412@aol.com  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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